


Aces and Pros

by twowritehands



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ace Lives, Angst, Asexual Castiel, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Pornstar Dean, Solosexual, Tumblr, ace - Freeform, ace spn minibang, ace!cas, pornstar!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a porn star. Cas is ace, but he does enjoy masturbating and is Dean's #1 fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aces and Pros

**Author's Note:**

> awesome artwork by cas-lost-grace

After his dishonorable discharge, Cas got a job bartending. The hours didn’t bother him, the money was good, and he rather liked the subdued atmosphere of Harvelle’s; the patrons showing up not looking for a party, just looking for a drink and some solitude. What was more, Ellen heard the words “dishonorable discharge” and didn’t bat an eyelash and the only thing she asked, with a flick of her eyes over his lean frame, was, “What’s that for, desertion?”

“Sedition,” Cas promptly corrected. Her eyes flashed, so he knew right away that she understood what the word meant. The corner of her mouth ticked; as if staging a coup to overthrow one’s leaders was mildly humorous. She flicked his application down to her desk, drawing in a deep breath and shifting her weight.

“Well, musta been a hell of a reason. I ain’t gonna ask. What I will do is give you a trial period. One month. If you can show up on time, do your job, treat me and my daughter with respect, and not try to incite your second mutiny, then you can stay.”

Cas grinned, astonished by his luck. This was, after all, the twentieth job interview he’d been on in the last five months, all of them ending abruptly when his reason for leaving service was revealed. No one wanted to hire someone who had such a problem with authority as to try to overthrow his commanding officers.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Harvelle. I already know you’re nothing like the officers I rebelled against.”

“Hey, call me Ellen. And I don’t know you from Adam, Cas, but I have a way of sensing character. You seem like a good man. And good men only go against the bad, in my book. Must have known the consequences when you did it and it didn’t stop you. So I’m givin’ you a chance, alright?”

“Thank you, Ellen!” he took her hand for a firm shake and, breathless with his good luck and the eagerness coursing through his body to prove himself, he insisted, “I will _not_ let you down.”

She chuckled at his sincerity and made shooing motions, “Go on. Jo’s in the kitchen, she’ll tell you where to get started.”

“I’m starting now?”

“Right now. Is that a problem?”

 

That was six months ago, and Cas felt at home here. He learned the various aspects of the job quickly, performed them with swift competence, and got along well with Jo, a beautiful young woman, hard as nails like her mother. With a job and Ellen’s kindly given reference, he was able to get an apartment and finally stop living a nomadic homeless life of going from shelter to shelter with nothing but a duffle bag of essentials.

In the first five months after his discharge, he’d learned the hard way that the general public, while not understanding much about a soldier’s life, clearly had a firm grasp on the fact that court martialing and dishonorable discharges were not handed out lightly. In most of the interviews, no one had even asked for the reason. The sentence was enough.

He frequently experienced surreal moments where he didn’t recognize his life. He’d thought he would be a career soldier. He’d literally never considered doing anything else. But here he was: Bartending. Sleeping in. Chuck Taylors instead of boots. Growing his hair out into a tousled mess. Painting his fingernails without fear of repercussions.

It wasn’t what his brothers wanted him to be, but Cas liked to think his father, at least, could understand. Wherever he was.

In the middle of a slow, uneventful shift, the world suddenly changed. A body plunked down onto the stool right in front of Cas, the man groaning out a sigh and asking for a double. He was broad shouldered, with a stark jaw, a deep voice, freckles, green eyes and—Holy shit.

Cas sucked in a breath, heart lurching as he recognized—it was _him_ —holy fuck.

Dean Winchester, the porn star.

* * *

A stool wasn’t super comfortable after a shoot like Dean just finished, but he wanted to be able to hear the TV. As the bartender promptly filled his order, Dean made a motion to the screen with a comment about the volume, and was handed the remote control. Dean blinked at the device. He’d never gotten the remote here before.

He looked up at the bartender, noting for the first time that it was a new guy. But then, considering it had been several months since he came here last, new was relevant. He was handsome. The depth in the blue of his eyes was startling, especially in contrast to his shaggy dark hair, warm complexion and dark scruffy beard. “Thanks,” he thought to say and tried not to stare. But damn. This guy was cute as hell.

Lips quirking to one side and a smile breaking open and stretching to show rows of perfectly maintained white teeth, the man spoke with a rumbling deep voice that sounded too big for his modest frame. “Anytime.”

The handsome bartender wore a button down under a vest, the white sleeves rolled up, revealing a tattoo on his inner arm. An upside down purple and gray triangle. His blunt nails were painted white. He wore a black ring on his right middle finger and a few cord bracelets on his left wrist.

In an effort not to stare at the only thing he wanted to look at, Dean looked around, realizing he was the only one in the whole joint. “Dead tonight, eh?”

“It can still pick up,” came the simple, gravelly answer. Dean rather liked that voice. He dared to look at the man again, and that was when he saw it.

The furtive glance. The blush. The obvious attempt to be cool. Dean was familiar with what it meant. “Guess you recognize me, huh?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I just learned the tells early on,” Dean insisted warmly. “Been in this business awhile. Kinda hard not to pick up on who’s a fan and who isn’t.” Yep, he _really_ liked the way this guy blushed.

“Well,” the guy rumbled and looked down where his hands were busy cleaning glasses. His Adam’s Apple pulsed, “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thanks. So are you, by the way,” Dean flirted with a lift of his glass, “Best double I’ve had. Really.” The full belly laugh that pulled out of the guy thrilled Dean. It was a _great_ sound. With a wide, pleased smile, Dean tried not to sound too eager, “So you know I’m Dean. Who are you?”

“Cas,” came the short answer, a shy glance down.

* * *

This was flirting. Cas knew it, and he enjoyed it. Especially since it was Dean Freggin’ Winchester: the shaven, oiled up, epicenter of all of Cas’ sexual escapades. His hard drive must be filled with a hundred videos of Dean fucking, or being fucked… and maybe more than a few that was him fully dressed and simply chuckling and charming his way through interviews.

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Dean said, “Never saw you around before.”

“I’m still kinda new in town,” Cas offered, stomach dropping. He really didn’t want to get into his past, his discharge. Once he did, it would go one of two ways: Dean’s eyes would shutter and he’d lose interest and even become wary of him, or his eyes would flash and he’d have questions and be rude, even aggressive.

Dean, a star in the gay porn industry since the age of nineteen, was clearly not in the military, but he had that tough guy look about him and had said in an interview once that his father, with whom he was close, was a Marine. So he was likely to be very offended by the whole thing. To keep it simple, Cas said only, “Needed a new start.”

“Ah,” Dean seemed to understand. Or, at least, he thought he did. Cas grinned as he considered all things Dean could be assuming about him right now. Probably the most likely, a bad breakup drove him to a new city.

In a way, that was right. The military had been Cas’ first love and now the military didn’t want him. At the first glimmer of individuality and independence of thought, the military branded him a felon and tossed him out. By now, Cas was beginning to realize it was for the best.

He could have lived and died, forever blind to… the possibilities.

Like now. Dean Winchester meeting his eye and _smiling_ so handsomely. “So,” the porn star said with glittering eyes. “Can I give you my number?”

* * *

The flirting was going well. Dean had felt one hundred percent confident when he offered his digits. But the moment he did, Cas’ expression changed. He closed off. He looked away, shifted his weight and focused on cleaning glasses. At length he said, “That wouldn’t be the best idea.”

“Are you seeing someone?” Dean asked, suddenly realizing the distinct possibility that this little dream boat was taken.

“No,” Cas’ laugh was like Dean had suggested the outrageous. He chanced a glance at Dean, “I just…”

“Is it because of what I do?” Dean asked knowingly. When Cas met his eye, he didn’t have to give an answer. Dean could see that it was a yes. After a decade, Dean was no stranger to this form of rejection. This was the first time in a while though, that it hit him this hard. In response to the pain, his face went hot and his voice hardened to demand,

“Think you’re too good for a guy that gets paid to fuck?”

“No!” Cas insisted quickly, his eyes going round in what had to be the most adorable face of terror ever. Like the last thing in the world Cas wanted to do was offend a porn star. “I think what you do is amazing. It’s—well, not something just anyone could do. And certainly not as well as you do it. I just shouldn’t date you because… I’m…” With a slump of his shoulders and a dejected shake of his head, he admitted, “I’m not on that kind of level, I guess?”

Dean couldn’t help his grin, “You think you won’t hold up against what I’m used to?”

“I _know_ I wouldn’t,” was Cas’ immediate and ardent answer. Dean never thought he’d be charmed by the self-deprecating approach. But he suddenly had the intense urge to show Cas just how hot of a bartending hipster he truly was.

“Hey, I know in what you’ve seen you think it’s clear what I like. But it’s called acting. I fake it as well as the rest of them.”

Cas’ lips twitched and those blue eyes settled on him. After a moment, he asked, “So you were just faking it with Benny LaFitte in the camping video?”

Honestly, it took Dean a moment to recall exactly what Cas was talking about. He made a lot of videos, okay? But it only took a moment, because Benny LaFitte was hard to forget. And that video they’d made as campers who couldn’t control their lust and so bent each other over logs and rocks and things… well…

Dean blushed. It was hard to make Dean blush, but there he was: In a bar. Blushing. Because Cas had called him out on that one. It was years ago now, but during that shoot, the thick and hairy Benny had managed to push some real buttons of Dean’s until he was truly strung out, wrecked, and begging for it.

The video plays like Dean’s an over-the-top actor, but not a single moan of it had been faked.

“Okay, well, I don’t always fake it. But that was a freak occurrence. It was like a full moon and the stars were aligned. Honestly, it’s hardly ever actually like that. Mostly it’s good looking guys with big cocks and I don’t know the first thing about them and they don’t know the first thing about me.” Dean shrugged, “When I get real life sex, I like for it be…” he looked down into his glass and swirled the whisky, “…more of a connection. Less showy, less oily, lower lighting, not as naughty.”

“Vanilla?” Cas offered with this totally adorable smile.

“Don’t say it out loud, but yeah,” Dean laughed, “I guess so.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, smiling, for a moment or two. Dean’s heart had picked up into a fluttery race. He liked where this was going.

It’d been awhile since Dean had bothered to go on a date. He got sex regularly, after all, even _too_ much. And if he ever needed to talk to anyone, his brother or Dad, or Bobby, or Kevin, or even Jody were just a phone call away. He learned a while ago that life was simple if he kept to work and family and didn’t bother with the rest.

…He’d learned to live happily without the jealousy that sparked when Dean made a lot of movies with a costar and then hung out with them after work, _what are you in love with him or something_?… The hurtful looks and accusations of being neglected or rejected if Dean didn’t want sex at night after a long day of sex with practical strangers, _You’re never tired until I’m the one that wants to fuck you_ … And, worst of all, the shameful way most of them lie to their friends and family about Dean’s job… _Oh,_ _he’s a model_.

Just wasn’t worth it.

That said, Dean found himself asking Cas out anyway. Because Cas’ eyes alone would make all of that bullshit worth it if they would just roam over him with admiration and lustful abandon. Just the thought of it sent Dean’s skin flashing hot with a subtle thrill rolling down his spine. This was going to be good. Dean got as far as he had in the industry for being able to predict who he would be best with, and this was it.

He and Cas could make a fortune if Cas was willing to fuck him on camera. Dean was sure of it. Not that Dean wanted it on camera, not even a little bit. He liked for the very best to be his own private experience. That was why things didn’t work out with Benny; the one and only time Dean had ever tried dating another porn star.

Cas looked back at him with this easy smile, light in his eyes, steady like he didn’t feel it necessary to stop staring. Like he was never taught that staring was rude. Like Cas enjoyed what he was looking at. Dean was happy to look back. Seriously. There was something about the blue in those eyes. When the staring had gone on long enough, Dean leaned his weight on his elbows on the bar, “So what do you say? Can I take you out sometime?”

Looking away only briefly, Cas’ smile went bashful and a beautiful blush tinted his cheeks high over his scruffy beard, and he said, “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

 _Why_ had he said ‘yeah okay’?

If Cas could kill that part of himself that had agreed to let a porn star take him on a date, he would. He just wasn’t sure exactly what part it was.

 _He’s gonna want sex_ , Cas kept thinking in a wild panic. _You should have told him the real reason why you turned him down the first time._ He’d known right away it was a bad idea to get involved with Dean, who was clearly a sexual being if ever there was one. Cas had learned his lesson with sexual people. They never understood his needs. His preferences.

But instead of outright explaining himself, putting the truth out there on the line, he’d let it sound like he simply didn’t think himself good enough in bed to accept Dean’s offer. And while there was truth to that—after all, as experienced as he was, he certainly couldn’t match the professionals—it was a blatant misdirection.

 _Should have just told him you’re ace,_ Cas angrily told himself over and over. He knew why he hadn’t; because he couldn’t out himself to people he just met. That was why he chose to wear the ring and even get the tattoo. They were his attempts to let it be known to those that would understand, but not broadcast it to everyone who would look down their noses at it.

 _Asexual_ ? Meg had snorted. _Isn’t that a plant thing_?

As Cas prepared to leave the bar with Dean after his shift, he faced the fact that Dean had to know. It wasn’t fair to keep this from him. He rehearsed how he might go about explaining his asexuality, but it all sounded so… He groaned, sure he was going to look and sound like a total idiot.

“What’s up?” Jo asked.

“See him?” Cas asked, not even indicating because it would be easy enough for Jo to pick out the good looking guy at the bar. “I just agreed to go out with him.”

“Awesome!” Jo cried.

“No. Not awesome,” Cas hissed, “He’s sexual. This can’t end well.”

“How do you know? Does he have a sexual orientation draped proudly all over himself like you do?”

“Bite me,” Cas grumbled even as he rolled down his sleeves to hide his tattoo. He’d been drunk when he got it and liked it most days. But Jo liked to point out that the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network triangle plus the ring were “overkill” and she had flat refused to lend him her purple nail polish telling him that there was such a thing as too much pride.

Jo, still frowning after Dean, asked, “Or did he just start talking about his desperate urge to nail you?”

“This isn’t funny, Jo.”

“I’m just curious how you can _know_ he’s sexual unless the two of you openly talked about it, which you didn’t do because if you did you wouldn’t be in a panic.”

“He’s a porn star,” Cas explained, “That’s _Dean Winchester_ . The most famous and hands down best bottom in the gay porn industry. Sex is _literally_ how he pays the bills. I’m sure it’s safe to say he's sexual.”

“Oh,” she frowned and her forehead wrinkled. “You know porn?”

“Of course I know porn!”

“Why?” She asked. With a laugh and a shake of her head she took his elbows, “I love you, but I’m going to need you to explain asexuality to me _one more time_.”

“Google it, I don’t have time,” Cas snapped. Jo, like most of the world, had been clueless about aces up until a few months ago. Like her mother, Jo had this incredible way of just accepting the odd things about people. He had enjoyed enlightening them on the topic. It beat explaining how he managed to ruin a spotless ten year military career.

Dean was waiting. Cas left Jo with a kiss on her forehead and joined him, the nerves more to do with impending doom rather than physical attraction. He liked Dean, found him handsome with a most amazing smile, and a pleasurable flirt.

 _If only the whole world could be happy with nothing but flirtation_ , Cas lamented for the hundredth time in his life.

* * *

The first date with Cas went great. Basically Dean just walked with Cas to the diner, they had some food, and then Dean walked him home. They flirted through most of it, complementing one another, teasing and laughing. When they found common ground—like classic rock, growing up without a mom, and having brothers—they had great discussions. Dean learned Cas was the youngest of five boys and never knew his mother. Meanwhile, Dean might have talked about his little brother Sammy a little too much but after confessing to losing his mom in a house fire when they were kids, he couldn’t help but go on and on about how he’d sort of become the one that had to raise Sam while Dad worked.

Cas didn’t seem to mind hearing about it.

“Your Dad was a marine, right?”  Cas asked when the topic circled around the man. Upon Dean’s bewildered look, Cas colored and said, “You mentioned it in an interview once…”

“You watch those?”

“The detail stuck with me; I’m also from a military family.”

“Oh?”

Blue eyes rocked to him and then away, and Cas nodded and offered, "My dad was air force. Two of my brothers are in the navy. The rest of us went into the army."

"Wow," Dean couldn't help but stop and look Cas up and down, "You were in the army?"

Dean had noted that Cas was fit, but hadn't gotten a soldier vibe from him.

"Signed up when I was eighteen,” Cas said. “Got out almost a year ago."

Dean whistled low, “Since you were eighteen. That’s a long time.”

“Yeah,” Cas drew a deep breath, “My life has changed… _utterly_ and completely, save one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Still watch you.”

Flattered beyond reason that a guy held onto a porn collection through a difficult life transition, Dean swallowed, smiled, and tried to ease the heat a little bit. “So why’d you quit the life?”

“To be free. To do the right thing. Destiny. Or I don’t know. A million reasons.”

Dean smiled, endlessly charmed by this guy’s voice and his pensive eyes, and now his mysteriousness. Fearing a lull in the conversation, he hurried to find another comment about Cas’ service. “… Guess you seen some action.”

“More than enough,” Cas said with a shrug and made no other comment, not wishing to discuss it. Dean tactfully took the hint.

Dean laughed, scrubbed at the back of his neck, “Wow, now I feel totally ridiculous. You’re a soldier, a freaking war veteran, and all I do is spread it on camera and let bears call me their whore.”

Cas chuckled, knocking his shoulder into Dean’s as they walked down the sidewalk toward his apartment, “Don’t belittle your work. It’s got it’s own challenges and rewards like anything else.”

At that, Dean was so moved he wanted to say something but couldn’t think what, so he just took Cas’ hand.

* * *

Dean had soft hands, but they were big and he held on with a comfortingly firm squeeze. Cas squeezed back, enjoying the contact immensely. It’d been awhile since anyone just held his hand. With a nervous flip in his stomach, he sincerely hoped Dean didn’t have an endgame in mind.

By the time they reached his apartment, they had become so engrossed in a discussion about Dr. Sexy MD (a show they both watched based on books they both read) that Cas invited Dean up with a simple tug on his hand. Dean didn’t even skip a beat as he ranted about what changes had been made to the storyline for the TV script.

Inside the apartment, Cas tried to be cool, but he was painfully aware that this was the first time anyone had been up here since he moved in. He hoped the dishes and laundry piles weren’t too out of control. He discreetly took sniffing breaths attempting to ascertain the state of the litter box.

Maybe he was acclimatized, but the place smelled normal to him. He hoped it was the same case for Dean. The man looked around with a quaint smile, “Great place,” he said, eyeing the bay windows and the bookshelves, the flowers on the kitchen table, the artwork on the walls.

“Thanks. Make yourself comfortable.” He motioned to the couch.

Dean hesitated and with an unsure grin he asked, “Should I stay? I mean… it’s pretty late and you must be tired after working all night.”

“Oh,” Cas looked at the clock. He’d been having such a good time talking and flirting with Dean, holding his hand. He hadn’t felt tired, and he didn’t want it to end. “I usually stay up a few more hours--but if you have an early start then--”

“No!” Dean insisted, “I just--” he cut himself off and shook his head with a nervous laugh, “It’s not that I want to go. I just thought….” he motioned between them and all around, “Things are going well, you’re inviting me up to your place, asking me to stay… I should just tell you now that I ain’t up for more than talking. Kinda started to chafe at the office, if you know what I mean.” He winked.

“That’s great!” Cas cried before he could help himself. Then, horrified he retracted, “I mean. It’s not great that you’re chaffed. That actually sounds very uncomfortable. I have Vaseline if you need it? I mean--well,”

Dean’s laughter prompted him to stop, take a deep breath and start over. “I just meant, it’s cool that you don’t want to have sex tonight. I wasn’t planning on it, either.”

“I didn’t mean to assume you're that kind of guy or anything.”

“It’s alright, Dean. Really. I’m having a good time. I’d like you to stay and keep talking.”

So they passed the next two hours on the couch, where conversation turned towards the difficulties that being a porn star brought to relationships.

“I guess it’d be like you pouring drinks all night and then someone asks you out to drinks. It’s like, let’s change the channel, know what I mean?”

"Yeah, actually,” Cas was quick to agree, so pleased to hear Dean’s opinion on the matter that he excitedly pulled his legs up under himself on the couch and turned to face Dean. “In fact, I don't think sex is that important.”

He liked the way Dean turned to face him, too, with this huge bright smile on his face. “Right! People ascribe this cosmic power, but it’s just flesh. It’s A plugs into B, repeat a _million_ times, you know?” Cas started snorting with laughter here and Dean, laughing too, continued, “It doesn’t _mean_ anything! I don’t fall in love with those guys and they don’t fall in love with me. It’s our job. Just a job.”

“There’s a level of detachment,” Cas offered wisely.

“Exactly! I mean, I actually think of it as a sport, you know?  It takes endurance and strength, even _balance_ . And it’s like a game. We have goals. Like, the director wants five cum shots to choose from so let’s see if I can get this guy there, or if he can get me there. It’s _just a game_.”

“Right,” Cas agreed, totally understanding, “But you still get shit about it. Meanwhile, people who play baseball, their partners encourage practice and would never dream of asking them to miss a game, or stop playing with a certain teammate, or whatever.”

With a stunned expression, Dean blinked at Cas and started nodding, “ _Exactly!..._ You’re not—” he frowned, “You’re not _actually_ in the porn business yourself are you?”

* * *

He asked because, damn, Cas seemed to _get it_ and in Dean’s experience no one but porn stars really understood the struggle. Not even Sam would agree that sometimes sex had no emotional consequences. Sometimes sex was… mechanical and professional and empty.

It could look like the most enthusiastic, glorious, soul-wrenching ass fuck of all time. But at the same time it was just a script. Dean could produce those exact sounds with the exact same level of sincerity in a coffee shop --Meg Ryan the place up, 90s chick flick style—didn’t mean he actually felt it.

With a huge gummy grin, Cas’ bashfulness slammed back into his expression. A moment ago, his face had been bright and open and now with Dean’s question it shuttered and tinted pink, eyes falling away from Dean’s face to the chipping paint of his thumbnail. “No, I could never perform in front of a camera.”

“Have you tried?” Dean challenged.

“I’m not into it,” Cas said with a simple shrug. “In the world of exhibitionists, I prefer to be the one watching.”

“A voyeur, huh?” the porn star jumped his eyebrows, “Ever watch people fuck for real?”

“Just videos,” Cas blushed again.

“Well maybe I can get you a pass onto one of my sets someday,” Dean winked. He watched Cas’ throat pulse as he gulped. Dean wondered if it would be too presumptuous to invite him to his very next shoot. His fluffer, Aaron, could take the day off for once; Dean wouldn’t need him if Cas was next to the camera, those blue eyes boring into him.

Noting the time, Dean realized he should be heading home. He did have work tomorrow. A skin mag photo shoot, so an easy day, but one he had to be alert for none the less. Cas saw him to the door and when Dean asked to see him again, he looked for a moment straight into Dean’s eyes, standing there like the embodiment of pensive quietness.

He was taking time to consider the offer. Dean had no idea if that was a good thing or not. But then, grinning, Cas nodded, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

More relieved than he cared to admit, Dean couldn’t leave it so open, so blurted, “When?”

“Um… same time Friday?”

“Great!”

Then came the awful moment. The only bad one in the whole night. They stood there, facing each other and Dean made a move before he even thought about it, leaning in to kiss Cas on the mouth, but the dude shuffled away.

Basically, Dean was standing there kinda bent forward at the waste, lips puckered into thin fucking air. In the reeling seconds that followed, Dean found himself getting awkwardly patted on the shoulder and shoved out the door.

What the hell happened?

“See you,” Cas gave this totally fake tight little smile and-- _click_. The door closed abruptly in Dean’s face.

Dean stood there in the hallway for a moment, trying to catch up. Clearly going for a kiss right then hadn’t been the best idea. But Dean had been having so much fun and he _really_ liked this guy, this cool as fuck bartender. They had walked and had decent food—Dean paid for dinner—and walked some more, and then Cas _invited him up_ and they talked and _connected_ , and it was so, _so_ great… Kisses were supposed to happen at the end of amazing dates, right?

* * *

Cas _wanted_ to kiss Dean, okay? It was the first time in a long time he wanted to kiss someone so much. Especially a sexual person. But in the moment when Dean leaned, Cas panicked. Because the kiss was going to be good. How could it not be?

And if the kiss was good, neither of them would want to stop. And if Dean wasn’t going to stop, well, then Dean wasn’t going to stop. Dean would have kept going on towards his own limits, which vastly outstripped Cas’.

Cas would have had to either stop and blurt out his status as an ace that doesn't do sex with other people, and explain what it all meant and how he could have gone this long not saying anything and led him on so far… or he’d have had to have sex.

So in a split second decision, Cas had ducked away from the kiss, pushed Dean out the door and ended the date. Like a freak.

He hardly slept that night. He just laid there in bed, hating himself, kicking his feet in frustration, groaning when he considered what Dean must think of him, slamming his fist into his pillow, wishing it was his own face.

Should have kissed him. Just one kiss. At least then Dean would know for sure Cas was interested. Now he probably just thought Cas was a total spaz.

 _Asexual doesn’t mean uninterested_ , he had tried to explain to Meg, who hadn’t wanted to hear it. _Put up or shut up,_ she'd said.

And that was when the fear crept in. What if Dean didn’t want to hear it, either? What if Dean didn’t show up for their next date, offended by Cas’ callous, abrupt behavior? Sure, Cas wasn’t interested in sex, but he was interested in everything else. And what a way to show it. Dodging Dean’s lips like bullets and literally shoving him out of the apartment.

It must have looked like Cas wasn’t interested in anything but talking.

The next morning, he slumped into work looking like hammered shit to explain to Jo that the date was perfect, right up to the end, where Cas couldn’t have gotten more effective at destroying the mood if he had salted and burned it. She put her mouth in a slant and gripped his shoulder, “Too bad. But, I mean, you guys _did_ agree to go on another date.”

“ _If_ he’ll show for it.”

“And if he _does_ , what are you going to do?”

With a deep breath and his game face, Cas gave a curt nod, “Tell him what I’m looking for.”

By Friday, Cas had lectured himself on the matter extensively. So when Dean walked into Harvelle’s, paused inside the door and then walked straight for Cas, he was prepared.

“Hi, Dean,” he said as amiably as possible. “Glad you came.”

“So you were still expecting I’d come?”

“Hoping, yeah,” Cas admitted. “Listen, about what happened. I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“I _am_ attracted to you—just not sexually.”

Dean’s eyebrows swooped low and he frowned, “Come again?”

“Look, when it became apparent you hadn’t caught on to my signals, I should have explained myself better. So the way things ended before, that’s on me. You see, I’m ace.”

“What? Ace? What’s that?”

“It’s my sexuality. I’m not _homo_ sexual. I’m _a_ sexual.”

Dean’s eyebrows went together, “Wait a minute, I’ve heard of that. It’s the purple white and black flag, right?”

“And gray, yes.”

Dean’s eyes went right to the thusly colored tattoo on his arm and the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out. So he finally caught onto the signals, then. With a huff, he took a seat at the bar, “And you guys, like, stay celibate or something?”

Cas hung his head, reigning in his annoyance. “No.”

“But—“

“Some of us are,” Cas cut in. “But abstinence is not hand in hand with asexuality. There are many different shades of ace. White to gray to black.” He motioned to the AVEN triangle on his forearm as he spoke, moving his finger down the gradation inside the triangle, white across the top, gray and then black in the bottom tip.

Frowning at the tattoo, Dean harrumphed, “That’s a queer thing? I thought it was hipster.”

Cas laughed, “Yeah, but it’s specific to a huge online community for aces, which not everyone is a part of. So the gradient purple spade is actually becoming a more popular symbol in the community.”

“Ace of spades like in a deck of cards? That would make a cool tat. Less hipster more wayward gambler type.”

Dean’s wink made Cas warm in his chest, and he rolled his sleeve down to cover the ink, “Yeah, well. I was drunk when I got this, and when I’m drunk I get maudlin and a little on the nose about things. I hazily remember declaring that if I was getting the AVEN triangle, I was going to keep it pure.” He chuckled at himself, “I even called the spade-shaped version an abomination.”

Dean laughed, “ _What_?”

Cas shrugged, “I know! Truth is, this triangle causes more offense than the spade, because the triangle is gay pride. But in the moment, I thought it was crappy to change the symbol just to avoid being accused of appropriating gay right’s symbols that don’t belong to me. Because this triangle does belong to me. It was the first thing aces had to use as a symbol of pride. It came around before our flag did, even our nickname. And I thought, why can’t we use a shape that happens to be similar to the gay pride symbol? Similar, after all, isn’t the same as _identical_ , right? When I decided I was getting ink, I thought tiptoeing around to make sure I couldn’t offend a single person on the planet was, I don’t know, cowardly? I told you. I was drunk.”

Dean’s chuckle sounded fond. “You’re more interesting by the second.” Their eyes caught and held. Cas felt warmed by the glow of Dean’s eyes. Then, as if snapping out of it, Dean shifted on his barstool and leaned forward with a jut of his chin at Cas’ covered tattoo. “So, um, what are the different shades? Some of you guys actually do like to bone?”

Appreciating the obvious effort to show interest and be educated, Cas pushed his sleeve back up. Jo made fun of him for using it like a visual aid, but considering how often he had to explain himself—just one of the perks of being in an invisible minority—he couldn’t deny the convenience of his ill-chosen ink. It was, after all, the literal symbol of the Asexual Visibility and Education Network.

“So the top line represents the Kinsey Scale. Familiar with it?”

“Of course,” Dean snorted. It might have been a little insulting to ask a gay sex idol if he’d ever heard of the gay scale.

“So the bottom corner of the triangle, down here removed from it all, is us. The aces. No sexuality so no place on the scale. The black represents those that _do_ refrain from all sex and even romance. The gray are demisexuals, those that _can_ become attracted to someone they have a deep and loving connection with. The white, that’s the rest of us plus our allies and friends. It’s a very wide umbrella.”

Moving his finger along the top, Kinsey Scale line, he continued, “The way I see it, in the white zone you can be asexual and prefer women, which is heteroromantic. Or asexual and biromantic, or asexual and homoromantic. You can have a libido, and become aroused and masturbate and you can even have sex with anyone you want whenever you want, you just don’t feel sexual _attraction_ to anyone.”

Cas watched the frown lines deepen on Dean’s face and decided he really, really liked how cute this porn star was when he was confused. “Isn’t being aroused being attracted?”

“Not at all. _Attraction_ is the urge to be with someone. _Arousal_ is just the urge to orgasm. Some asexuals who experience arousal enjoy finding release with others. Some of us just masturbate, preferring to release by ourselves. We find sex alone vastly more satisfying than with anyone else.”

“So that’s the kind of ace you are, then? The kind that likes to beat it solo?”

“Of course. How do you think I’ve become so familiar with your work?” He dared a wink. Bold of him, as Cas had only ever winked maybe twice in his life and never as part of this kind of conversation. His gamble produced a lovely blush across Dean’s cheekbones.

“And going out with me makes you homoromantic, or whatever, right?”

“I’m actually biromantic,” Cas corrected.

“And you … What? Go on dates where you only hang out and then you jerk off to thoughts of them later? Sounds like living in a perpetual state of repressed pining over a best friend.”

“FYI,” Cas tilted his face forward to shoot Dean a reprimanding look through his eyelashes, “we hate it when you say we’re just repressed.”

“Oh, shit, sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay. I know what you meant. But I don’t just ‘hang out’ with my partners. We make out, cuddle, hold hands, talk, laugh, tickle. It’s a relationship minus sex with each other.”

“Hm,” Dean hummed pensively, his eyebrows still together in deep thought. “But you didn’t let me kiss you.”

Ashamed, Cas looked down, “About that. I’m—I just panicked. I hadn’t explained myself to you yet and so when you leaned I thought for sure that the kiss would be _good_ and so we wouldn’t want to stop and for you things would get… out of hand.”

“I’d have stopped if you told me to!”

“I never meant to imply that you wouldn’t!” Cas insisted. “I just… I have a long history of dating sexual people and… doing things I was uncomfortable with just to keep the status quo.”

Dean scoffed, “That’s awful.”

“Most of it was before I understood who I was. What I wanted. You would have stopped if I said no, but… The truth is, I probably wouldn’t have even said no. It hasn’t gone over well in the past, and I don’t like to make ripples in personal relationships, especially when things are going so amazing like last night. When things are going well, it’s like I’d sell my soul to avoid conflict.”

“You think saying stop when you’re not okay is _conflict_?”

Remembering his experiences with Meg and Crowley, Cas shrugged, “It has been before.”

“Well _fuck_ those guys—or girls. Or whoever they were.”

Cas grinned, “You mean _don’t_ fuck them?”

Dean laughed. “Exactly, man! You have to have more spine than that! Say no when you want to and mean it. No matter what happens. You have a voice, and you have a right.”

Amazed by this unexpectedly passionate comment, Cas smiled and leaned over the bar, speaking without thinking, “Now I _really_ want to kiss you.”

* * *

Cas was so unbelievably handsome in that moment. Blue eyes so bright. Smile so perfect, creasing his face as he leaned in way close to Dean. But Dean’s reaction to it was—after the initial punch in the gut of desire—to move away from the bar, out of kissing range.

What’d Cas think? Dean was just going to grab him by the ears and kiss him? He’d get all that information and then just disregard what it _meant_?

He wanted to kiss Cas. God, did he want to. So he hated himself when Cas’ expression fell, like a heart breaking out in the open. “Sorry,” Dean said with a self-conscious laugh. “But kissing wouldn’t be smart.”

“You’re right,” Cas said, expression closing down into this rigid stoicism. He got back to work arranging things behind the bar. “Sorry.” And that was it. He didn’t seem to need an explanation.

Dean still needed to give it, though, “It’s just. You’re not looking for a sexual relationship and I am. So it would get weird. Right?”

“Of course. Yes. I totally understand. It’s why I try to be upfront about being ace. I usually don’t even date sexual people. I just…” he trailed off. His eyes shifted to Dean’s form and away again. Dean got it.

“I’m pretty bummed about this, actually,” Dean admitted, “You’re a great guy. I thought we could…” he trailed off with a half-hearted motion between them.

“We can still be friends, Dean. I’d be honored.”

“Okay,” Dean readily agreed. So when Cas’ shift ended they still went out to eat as planned, grabbing burgers at the same diner as before. It wasn’t a date anymore, so no need to strive for originality.

They talked about sexuality, trading stories about coming out. Dean, obviously, only had a few from his younger years. By now, the whole world knew he liked dick. Cas, though, not only had to come out to every new person he cared about but generally had to explain whole concepts and share private details to help them understand.

“Sounds like it sucks,” Dean said past his finger full of fries.

“It’s the cross I bear to be happy,” Cas said with a shrug, “I mean, it can be annoying, but it’s way better than having sex when I don’t want to.”

Dean stared at him pensively, “It’s wild, man. I’ve never considered anyone _not liking_ sex before.”

“I love sex,” Cas countered. “Sex is amazing! There are few things better than watching or reading about intense passionate sex. It’s why I’m such a fan of yours. It’s why I read the fanfiction people write about you.”

Covering his eyes, Dean groaned, “You don’t.”

“I do. Don’t be embarrassed, though. They always depict you in flattering ways.”

“Jesus,” Dean murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Cas grinned. The waitress refreshed his coffee. He thanked her and she sauntered off.

“So you like watching but not doing?” Dean asked.

“Not doing with other people, no,” Cas confessed. “I have epic times with myself. I’ve gone for hours just playing. It’s the best way to relieve tension. I love it.” Dean was grinning and Cas shrugged, “But something about that joy diminishes when I do it with another person. It becomes… self-conscious and weird. I’m uncomfortable no matter what position I’m in, no matter who I’m with or where we are. I just… It feels great but I don’t feel _right_ when I’m doing it.”

“Hmmm,” Dean hummed with a frown, clearly trying to wrap his brain around it. “I have days like that on set. It’s like nothing will just click into place like it’s supposed to,” Cas started nodding, “like the world just won’t fall away from me,” Cas’ nodding became more enthusiastic, “and suddenly I hate myself for letting this guy do this thing to me.”

“Exactly!” Cas broke in, beaming at him, basically ejaculating the word in his full-on agreement. And then in the same way Dean had asked last night if Cas was a porn star, the hipster bartender narrowed his eyes, “Wow, are you sure you’re not asexual?”

With a chuckle and wave of his hand, Dean shook his head, “Nah, man. Usually when I get like that it means I’m due to pause from work for a while. Someone once compared it to a ‘sub drop’? It’s not exactly the same thing, but I’d say it’s close. It’s like I start kinda feeling weird about who I am and what my career has led me to do with my body and stuff. It’s like I lose sight of my self-respect. I’m like, how could you let them paint you as such a whore? Even though I agree to all of it, and I like doing it. Know what I mean?”

“Losing sight of self-respect,” Cas echoed, “Yes. I’d say that’s certainly how I feel when I have sex with someone just because they expect it. But it’s never like this lasting self-hatred. Soon enough I have my head back on and I _know_ who I am and what I want.”

“Wild,” Dean said again, his cheeks hurting from smiling so much. But, damn, did it feel good to talk and be heard and to see such bright and intelligent understanding shining back out at him from those incredible blue eyes…

He eagerly leaned on his elbows on the table, probably just to get closer to that shade of blue, “Look at us. How can a guy who has _too much_ sex and a guy who has _no sex_ understand each other so well?”

Cas’ smile was truly radiant and the tilt in his head hurt Dean’s heart like a puppy with a wrinkly face, “We balance each other out I guess. It’s nice, I haven’t had someone I could talk to like this in—well, ever.”

Dean _really_ wished he could kiss and caress and hold and fuck and—shit maybe even _love_ —this guy. But, no, no, no. Better not.

* * *

“Yeah,” Dean croaked in automatic response, “It’s pretty great to talk like this.”

Dammit. Cas kicked himself.

Cas saw the way Dean’s expression dropped as he averted his eyes and fidgeted a little. He knew what that was; Dean wanted Cas to want more. Dean was _disappointed_ in him for not wanting more.

He sighed, “Dean—“

“It’s fine,” Dean cut in and plastered on a smile. It was almost convincing. “But, seriously, Cas, just FYI? I’m declaring us official best friends. You have to pick up the phone everytime I call you. Because no one I know is this good of a listener, which is something I need in my life.”

Cas chuckled, charmed. “I’d love to be your best friend, Dean.”

Dean rapped the table with his knuckles. “Good.”

They paid for their food and wandered out into the night. “So what now?”

Dean shrugged. “I haven’t had a best friend in years.”

“Well, I think best friends usually just pick someone’s place and hang out.”

“Back to yours then?” Dean asked. He snapped his fingers, “Oh! There’s a Dr Sexy MD marathon on CW!”

“I forgot about that!” Cas cried. They fell into step, hurrying down the street.

In no time they were in Cas’ apartment and had the TV on, popcorn going in the microwave. The cat emerged to say hello, meeting Dean and loving him instantly, rubbing against him like crazy with loud purring.

Having already seen the episodes, Cas and Dean spent the whole time picking out favorite lines and arguing about the best and worst characters and plot lines.

One bowl of popcorn became three and one argument about the writers’ motives for keeping two certain characters apart escalated into a fist full of popcorn thrown at each other while laughing, then an appearance of Cas’ broom and dust pan as Dean insisted on cleaning up the mess he’d initiated. An episode or two more and suddenly it was the wee hours of the night and Dean had to go.

Cas felt legitimate disappointment that the night had to end, but he capped it. They said their goodbyes.

There was a brief moment, a heartbeat, where they stood at the door looking into each other’s eyes and Dean’s eyes dropped down to Cas’ lips, but then almost instantly bounced away and, with a nervous sounding chuckle, Dean repeated his goodbyes and ducked out.

The cat was sitting there in the entryway floor, looking at Cas when he shut the door and sagged against it. “What?” he asked her. She meowed.

* * *

Lights, camera, action.

Dean rode cock with practiced finesse, eyes drooping closed. Ever since gaining Cas as a best friend a week earlier, work had gotten considerably… _easier_ in some respects. Like now. They needed an epic cum shot.

Aaron, the fluffer, had kept Dean primed through the morning, but he didn’t dwell on the naughty things the talented fluffer had whispered in his ear. He had something that worked better.

Blue eyes. Watching.

Like a perfectly timed fish hook in his guts, Dean’s ejaculation pulled out of him in long ropes.

Cas and his blue eyes weren’t _actually_ on set, but they didn’t need to be. Dean just had to think about how, soon as this video was posted to the site, Cas would buy it, download it, and watch it while he found pleasure with himself, those perfect eyes raking over Dean’s body as he came.

Oh, god. That was all it took.

The hardest part was not talking to Cas about it. He felt it would be weird to ask him such a personal thing, hey did you see my latest video? Did it make you come? Are you going to watch it again? What’s your favorite part?

Best friends shared but surely not _that_ much. And, sure, it was Dean’s job and he could always benefit from a true fan’s critique, but it wasn’t Cas’ job to watch the videos. That was his personal time. The only sex life he had. He deserved his secrets.

“How was work?” Cas asked one evening when Dean parked it at the bar.

“ _Good_ ,” Dean intoned and knocked back a shot. Cas grinned and echoed, “Good.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh and he said it before he could think better, “I guess a good day at work for me means a good night in bed for you later down the road, huh?”

Cas’ blush was _so dark_. Dean thought instantly he had crossed a line and started to apologize, but Cas waved a hand and laughed, mumbled, “You’re not wrong,”

“So…” Dean had a feeling he should leave it alone but he just couldn’t, “So you still watch me?”

Cas shrugged, “If it’s not broken don’t fix it. You’re what I’m used to. It gets the job done.”

“So it’s not, like, weird for you?”

Cas looked up sharply, eyes wide, “Oh, god, is it weird for you or something? I’ll stop if you don’t—“

“Hey, no,” Dean cut in, then dialed it back on his eagerness. “I mean, like. Whatever. Do what you want. I’m used to people I know seeing my movies.”

“You sure?”

“Cas, it’s fine.”

Cas nodded, but still looked a little worried. Dean, in an attempt to prove it, rapped the bar with his knuckles, “In fact, I think it’s about time I did my boy a solid.”

He had Cas’ attention. Dean was more in love with the idea by the second, “You’re my voyeur best friend, and I still haven’t gotten you a pass on set yet!” Cas groaned and hid his face.

“Come on, man. It doesn’t have to be while I’m on,” Dean insisted.

“Is it _so_ important to you that I see people having sex in person?”

“Yes,” Dean instantly and honestly answered. “It’s the _only_ way I am ever going to be your wingman.”

“Not true,” Cas argued. “I could still use your help breaking the ice with someone I like.”

“You like someone?” Dean instantly asked, feeling his face drop and a weird uncomfortable flip in his stomach. Surely that wasn’t jealousy. They were just best friends. Not allowed to be more, so not allowed to be jealous.

“No,” Cas answered with a look that said he was aware of how that had sounded and how Dean had felt about it, but wasn’t sure how he himself felt about how Dean felt. “It was a hypothetical statement.”

Dean knocked back another shot. God, it sucked having an angel like Cas in the friend zone. “Well,” he said, “It’s not a hypothetical invitation. This is what best friends do, right? Help each other get good sex? Because if so, I lucked out. My job in this is hella easy. Just gotta line your eyesight up with some professional exhibitionists, and I happen to know about a _hundred_ of those. Bam. Done”

Cas was laughing, “Dean. How will it work? I’ll just walk on set and start fucking my fist right there in front of everyone? I don’t think so.”

“Hey, if I get you a fluffer badge, you can do whatever the hell you want to keep the stars going.”

Darkening in another beautiful blush, Cas turned away with a non-committal, “Yeah right.”

“You said you like to watch, didn’t you?” it came out more accusatory than it was meant. Cas frowned at him.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not content just watching a pre-recorded video.”

“Okay, whatever,” Dean dropped it, and did his best to ignore the mounting disappointment. So Cas wasn't _really_ interested in being on set. Big deal.

* * *

Big shot detective Sam Winchester always let Dean look at his badge whenever they had lunch. Dean just liked to play with it, put it in his jacket and whip it out at waitresses and random passersby. He was practising the oh-so-casual flip that real cops like Sam do, slow enough to actually show the badge, but still somehow fast. Dean had almost got the hang of it last time. But today, he didn’t even ask for it.

“What’s up with you, man?” Sam asked. “They not making the detective porno after all?”

Dean’s forehead wrinkled. “What detective porno?”

“I don’t know. The one you’ve been practising for with my badge?”

“That’s not for a role. I’m seriously practising. I’m joining the force when I retire.”

“Yeah right,” Sam snorted. Dean snickered too. Like they would ever give him a gun. His amusement faded quickly, and Sam pulled out his Serious Cop Needs Answers Now face.

Dean sighed. “There’s this guy I _really_ like but…”

“He’s straight?” Sam guessed.

“No, he’s into me. We had an amazing date and we’ve been hanging out a lot since.”

“He found out what you do and freaked, huh?”

“No, he’s a huge fan, actually. And he doesn't care about that stuff.”

“Then what's the problem?” Sam asked with a bewildered frown.

“That _is_ the problem. He doesn’t care about it. Sex. With people. Like, at all.”

“So he’s ace,” Sam shrugged a shoulder as he chewed. Dean reared back in honest surprise.

“You've heard of it?”

“My brother is gay. I make it a point to know and support all orientations.”

“Awe,” Dean flipped him off and took a sip of coke. “It just makes more sense that we be friends. And that sucks. Have you ever been friend zoned, Sam, in your life?”

He lifted his chin and frowned in thought. “No.”

Dean chortled at his plate and Sam’s phone rang. A case. Dean insisted on getting the check--porn paid _way_ better than the city of Los Angeles--and Sam promised to meet up with him again sometime next week.

* * *

A few weeks later their schedules lined up so that Dean and Cas both had the same day off. They caught a movie and then had lunch in what had become their routine diner and their routine booth. Then Dean helped Cas to repaint his bedroom and bathroom doors, where the previous renters let their dog scratch away the paint.

While they did this, Dean ranted about the surprising politics in the porn industry and revealed to Cas the ugly side of drama and sabotage.

“It’s almost enough to quit on the bad days,” Dean lamented with a shake of his head. They were squatted in the hallway, the can of paint on a drop cloth between them, their little paint brushes dipped in the white paint. Cas’ was tidy with paint only on the end of the bristles. Dean had managed to cover his entire brush and most of his arms, accompanying the mess with a few jokes about lube and cum spatter that made Cas laugh.

“Why can’t it be good sex and no bullshit?” Dean asked.

“When does anything come without bullshit?” Cas answered.

“ _You_ don’t come with bullshit,” Dean said at once.

Flattered, but not convinced, Cas gave him a raised eyebrow look, “That’s bullshit.”

Dean grinned at him, “How many exchanges do you think we can have that all end in the word bullshit?”

“You mean how many times can we say the word bullshit?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean; no bullshit.”

“It seems you must have an affinity for the word bullshit.”

“Well if there’s one curse word better than asshole, it’s bullshit.”

“Really? I rank asshole over bullshit,” Cas said instantly.

“Assholes in general are much more satisfying to see than animal feces, true, but it’s not as satisfying to _call_ someone an asshole as it is to call them out on their shit with a solid _bullshit_.”

“Long sentences are not allowed in the game bullshit.”

“What? Yes they are, that is utter bullshit!”

“No, it’s not. Running two sentence together so that you can mask that that first one doesn’t end in bullshit is bullshit.”

“The game is not about sentences ending in bullshit, it’s about exchanges ending in bullshit.”

“So I can talk at you for twenty minutes and so long as I end it in bullshit, I’m still playing the game bullshit?”

“That’s the only rule in the game of bullshit.”

“There _has_ to be more rules than that in bullshit.”

Dean opened his mouth and stopped and then, as they both laughed because Dean was stumped, he jumped in again, “No, okay, I got this, because I’m _not_ going to let you win the game bullshit.”

“I think I just won bullshit.”

“Bullshit!”

“You owe me, because I deliberately set you up for that bullshit.”

Dean’s laughter got the better of him and he collapsed on his rump on the floor, holding the back of his paintbrush hand to his mouth, “This is the best game ever. I love how much we’re saying bullshit.”

“Yeah, it’s like we’re making up for lost time when we were kids and too afraid to say it,” Cas agreed with a laugh and then, because he stopped talking so Dean’s eyes popped wide, Cas hurriedly tried to add, “Bullshit!”

But Dean was already howling and slapping his thighs, “You lost! You didn’t say bullshit! You said ‘it’ instead of bullshit!”

Outraged with himself but joining in on the gut wrenching laughter, Cas, too, collapsed onto the drop sheet to allow his knees some relief. They were nearly done with the door, but the claw marks had this nasty way of soaking up the paint and becoming visible again.

They laughed and laughed. Cas hadn’t laughed like this in years. His ribs hurt. His cheeks hurt. He was having trouble breathing. Dean got paint on the floor and with a “ho shit” tried to wipe it up but only smeared it.

“Dean,” Cas scowled playfully and grabbed a corner of the drop sheet as he bent over Dean to reach the paint smear.

Next thing he knew, Dean was kissing him.

Oh, god, what a kiss. He had Cas in a firm grip by the back of the head and his mouth crushed over Cas’, a welcoming enveloping heat and a swipe of cool minty tongue. Cas opened for him instantly and leaned into the press of Dean’s mouth, grabbing Dean by the front of his shirt. Dean’s other arm went around Cas’ waist and the kiss went on and on.

Over a month of friendship and already it was the best friendship Cas had ever had and, god, did he ever want anything as much as this? A simple kiss—that was all he’d been craving from his friend. And here, here he got it tenfold. A thousand times better than he imagined.

They sat there in the floor, rocking sort of back and forth as they crammed their mouths together, Dean pressing Cas back and then Cas pressing forward to push Dean back. Their hands roamed. Cas felt Dean’s solid pecs and bulging biceps, Dean swooped a hand down Cas’ spine, around his waist, another going down Cas’ denim covered thigh.

A surreal and frighteningly new thing began to happen to Cas.

Because this was Dean. The Dean. Dean Winchester. The literal focus of Cas’ solo sex life for years. He was kissing Dean like all those men did. Dean was kissing him back… Cas started to feel…. well, that sexy heavy pull in his gut. The one that meant to shoo the cat out of the room, shuck his boxers, turn down the lights, and log into his online porn account.

Never, ever, had Cas felt this bubbling sex feeling whilst kissing someone else.

He suddenly broke away from Dean and pulled out of his arms, with a slurred kind of, “What the hell? Wait, wait—no.”

Beautifully dazed with his pink lips all swollen and his eyes a little glassed over, Dean blinked rather dumbly, “What?”

Oh, god. Dean often looked into the camera with that look right after he’d been reamed like a dime store hooker. How many times had Cas come to that look? He was getting hard just seeing it in person!

“I—“ Cas began but he didn’t know where to go with it, where to start. He scrambled to his knees. “I can’t—I mean, I don’t’—“

“Oh,” Dean crashed back to earth, and with widened eyes he, too scrambled up. “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

“No—don’t—I mean—“ Cas tried.

“It’s my fault!” Dean cried. “I just—I wasn’t thinking. I was just—I—“

“You kissed me.”

“Shit,” Dean covered his face, “I wasn’t _thinking_!”

“It was a—“ Cas could hardly believe his own short term memory. Surely that just happened to someone else? “Dean, you’re a _really_ good kisser.”

Dean stopped scrubbing his face and peeked between his fingers at Cas, “You mean you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Dean, that was _amazing_.”

“Then…” Dean shifted his weight, that adorable confused look back, wringing Cas’ heart with it’s adorableness levels. “Then why did you stop? Oh, wait, shit. Never mind. I remember.” Dean rolled his eyes at himself and then pressed on his temples. “I keep forgetting or something. Sorry.”

“So,” Cas’ spirits suddenly plummeted, “So just then you thought—I mean you were thinking it was leading to sex?”

Dean’s sheepish look said yes.

Cas felt suddenly betrayed. “You weren’t kissing me just to kiss—just to be content with only kissing me?”

He watched it dawn on Dean’s face, saw him realize how Cas might have interpreted the moment. He swore and focused on a bit of wet paint on his shirt. “Guess not.”

“Oh,” Cas said. The sexy feeling was long gone, and Cas was able to identify where it came from. Total trust, trust that Dean knew Cas’ boundaries, knew them and wanted nothing beyond them. Knowing now that Dean had expected sex tainted the intoxicating sizzle he’d injected into Cas. He now felt _dirty_ , as if Dean had somehow tricked him.

He didn’t realize tears were in his eyes until blinking made one fall.

“Cas—“ Dean began with a step towards him, but Cas dodged him.

“You should go, I think.”

“Cas, wait—“

“Just. Go. Please, Dean.”

When he was gone, Cas sat at his dining room table, feeling more alone and more of a freak than ever.

* * *

The kiss played over and over in Dean’s head that night, keeping him awake. The ease of their friendship this past month and a half, the amazing conversations, the teasing and laughter—it’d all been this incredibly slow but powerful build to that moment. Kissing Cas had felt as natural as breathing and it felt as amazing as—No comparison. Literally none.

Dean didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how Cas could kiss him like that, kiss him and run his hands over Dean’s body, grabbing his clothes, making those soft little noises of pleasure, if he wasn’t sexually interested.

There was making out and then there was kissing before fucking and, well, Dean could have sworn that was what they were doing.

And Cas had looked so—scared. So lost. So confused. So upset.

Dean couldn’t stand it. He called Cas, fuck the late—or early—hour.

Cas answered, “Can’t sleep either?”

“Cas, please, just—I want to understand what happened. I can’t figure it out. Did I cross a line? Did I totally fuck up and do something wrong? Because—“

“No!” Cas hurried to say, “No, I… Dean,” Cas groaned, this sound perfectly matched Dean’s agony. “Kissing you did something to me and it freaked me out.”

“What?”

“I got—excited. Usually I have to be alone before, you know, I feel sexual at all.”

“Really?” Dean sat up, a full body thrill ringing him head to toe.

“It was just for a minute. But then… I realized what you expected and… I don’t know, it ruined it.”

Dean’s thrill died an instant death. “Cas, I would have _never_ pressured you. I would have stopped the moment you—“

“I know.”

“But it still ruined it for you? Thinking that I _want_ you, that’s a turn-off for you?” Dean couldn’t lie. That hurt like a _mother_ fucker.

“I guess,” Cas said and then, “No, I don’t know.”

“Well which is it?”

“I don’t _know_ , Dean,” Cas’ voice was hard and rough with annoyance.

“Cas, I’m gonna be honest, I want you bad. Like, really bad. Kissing you is just—wow, Cas. You know?”

He could hear it in Cas’ breathing; he was crying. “I know.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’re gonna figure something out though, right? I can’t lose my best friend over a dumb kiss.” Cas chuckled in appreciation of Dean’s attempt to erase the whole thing as a mistake. “So, come on, Cas. Talk to me.”

A sniff came over the line and Cas started talking, “The best I can figure out is that it’s because it was you. You know? I mean I come to images of you all the time. I’ve been building erotic feelings around you for _years_ and then there you were and, like, it was exciting but it was real and I was just torn, Dean. Torn between all kinds of things and I just didn’t know what to do. I got scared and I panicked.”

“You said once—“Dean started and hesitated but then plowed on, “You said there was some aces that could feel attraction. You know, if they cared enough.”

“Yeah, I’ve already considered that.”

“And?” Dean’s heart was suddenly teetering out in the middle of a fucking high wire.

“And,” Cas started, slowly, “I… think… it’s a possibility.”

Dean’s relief flooded him with this joyous buoyancy. “Really?”

“We’ve become really close, wouldn’t you say?”

“Definitely.”

“I mean, we’ve been building this sort of intimacy without sex. And that’s what aces crave, Dean. That’s what we want out of life. Not sex, just intimacy. Just that special someone to share everything with, to be close to but not necessarily physically. You know?”

“And we have that.”

“Yeah.”

“But that kiss almost made it sexual and that was new and alarming for you.”

“Yes.”

“So…” Dean fished, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“For now let’s just say we have more potential than I initially thought.”

Dean laughed, “You nerd, why don’t we just say we’re boyfriends?”

The sound of Cas drawing in a sharp breath made Dean grin as he waited. Cas eventually said, “You… you realize I’m not a hundred percent on the demi sexual thing, right? I’m still trying to figure it all out? I may never feel comfortable enough, even with you, to do more than kissing?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I understand. I just—God, Cas I just want to kiss you again.”

“Then get over here right now.”

Dean didn’t need telling twice.

* * *

Cas opened the door to find Dean in jeans, flip-flops and a backwards t-shirt. He laughed, Dean surged in, shut the door behind him and grabbed Cas in a fierce kiss. Their whole bodies mashed together. Dean’s strong arms went all the way around Cas, holding him tight. They kissed and kissed, stumbling backwards into the apartment until Cas was sitting on the back of the couch.

Heart racing with nerves, Cas sank into the feel of Dean, in the magic of his lips and tongue and breath, the strength of his arms, the heat of his body. Their lips parted for breath and Dean rasped, “God, you’re _amazing_ , Cas.”

“I’m a mess,” Cas insisted. Dean’s next kiss seemed to be an honest attempt to prove otherwise. Cas only felt more like a mess. Like a big messy puddle of sighs and contentment where a man named Cas used to be. The back of the couch had a board with rather sharp corners that were digging into Cas’ ass, but he didn’t want to let Dean go.

When he felt the definite ridge of Dean’s cock, he pulled his lips away with an uncertain sound.

Dean grimaced and angled his hips away, “Sorry. Don’t—don’t pay attention to that.”

Chuckling, Cas bumped his nose along Dean’s jaw, “You’re pretty amazing, yourself.”

“Just trynna keep up with you,” Dean rasped, his breathing labored. He pressed his forehead to Cas’ and took a moment with his eyes closed.

“But, seriously, Dean. Thank you for--at least _trying_ to understand.” Dean’s fingers went through Cas’ hair, blunt nails across his scalp. The unexpected gesture felt suddenly _so intimate_ it brought a sudden sting to Cas’ eyes which he buried in Dean’s collar. “I started to think I would just be alone—“

“Hey,” Dean cut in and with a gentle squeeze, he brought more comfort into Cas’ life than he’d had from anyone in the past two years. He was sobbing before he could stop. Dean just folded him in his arms, pressing his heart to Cas’ ear, and holding on.

* * *

The blunt fact was that Dean didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He just knew Cas mattered more than anyone else. He knew that Cas was special in a very real way. He knew that right now, he had a chance to become part of something fucking extraordinary. He just had to hold on through the unknowable parts and not fuck things up.

When Cas had regained control, he took Dean by the hand and pulled him down the hall. Dean’s heart rate spiked but he firmly reminded himself not to assume or expect anything. Cuddling. Cuddling also happened at the end of hallways.

Cas’ bedroom was tidy and smelled like Cas. The comforter and pillows were white, but the sheets matched Cas’ eyes, giving the impression of the sky on a beautiful day. They climbed in, Dean kicking off his flip-flops. Cas fit himself along Dean’s side and sagged into him. Dean wrapped himself around Cas, holding him close.

“I haven’t had a sexual boyfriend in a long time,” Cas said.

“Hey, me either,” Dean chuckled.

“This is serious, Dean,” Cas looked up at him, “It’s not easy to have mixed orientation relationships. Especially when the mix is ace and sexual.”

“Yeah but—I mean you might be demi, right?”

Cas sat up, “If you’re banking on that then—“

“I’m not!” Dean assured, and what scared him was that this was the truth. He didn’t doubt that falling in love with a border-line sex repulsed ace would be trouble for an incredibly sensual being like himself, but dammit it all to hell if he didn’t want to give it everything he had anyway. “Kissing and cuddling and holding your hand, that’s okay.”

“Really?” Cas seemed skeptical. For good reason.

“Sure,” Dean insisted blindly. “I mean, I get sex from work. A lot of it. Sometimes even too much. What I don’t get enough of are kisses that _move_ me like yours do.”

Cas’ face twitched, one of those about to cry grimaces. Dean reached to caress his cheek, “Cas, I think we might really be able to make this work.”

The crying was back. And there Dean thought yesterday that blue eyes couldn’t be more beautiful. Try hanging stars in them, like light in beads of water on those perfect lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, look, it would be amazing if you were demi and we could be together, but we’re still pretty amazing anyway, right? So, just—don’t think sex is all that I want from you. Because it’s not.”

“It's still some of what you want, though.”

“But I can’t help that. I’m sexual; it’s just how I’m wired. It’s the best way I know how to show someone what they mean to me. But it’s not the _only_ way there is, and that’s okay. I’ll learn the other ways.”

“Sounds like you really do get it.”

“I’ve never felt like this before, Cas. This willing to do anything feeling. It’s pretty scary.”

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, “I think that’s what happened earlier. I realized my limits with you might be different than with other people.”

“Are they?”

“It’s still a maybe.”

“So thinking about having sex with me right now—that’s making you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah,” Cas admitted. “But that might just be because it’s so fast. I mean it’s only been a month.”

“I’m usually fucking a guy within minutes of meeting him, so a month is a pretty long time for me.”

Cas laughed, “It was usually four or five for me. Back when I was having sex because I thought I had to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So just bear with me, okay? Because if you can let me go slow—I’m talking glacial speed—as I figure this out… then I think we could be really great.”

“Okay,” Dean said, simple and sincere. “Whatever you need. I’m not just your boyfriend, I’m still your best friend, Cas. You call the shots.”

With a wet laugh, Cas admitted, “I think,” he sniffed and looked down, tears staining the sheets, “I think this is the best night of my life. Is that dumb?”

“No,” Dean pulled Cas back into his arms. “No, sweetheart. It’s not. Because it’s the best night of mine, too.”

* * *

They noticed at work. Of course.

Jo cornered Cas at the ice maker and demanded to know why he was “all smiley and twinkly” today. Cas didn’t need any more prompting than that to spill every last detail of that amazing kiss. He was even wearing the hoodie to show off the paint smears Dean had gotten on it. Jo knew how clean Cas could be with a paintbrush, and whistled low at the evidence of passion.

Cas collapsed on his elbows on the bar. “It was good, Jo. I’m talking...like....as good as it gets.”

“Wow...I want that. Just once, you know? It’d be nice to get an animal kiss that isn’t just a segway into rough and rowdy sex. Unfair.”

Cas glanced down, unsure if he wanted to explain that Dean had meant it as a segway because all the kisses for the rest of the night had been exactly what she was talking about. He decided to brag and shrugged. “You’re sexuality has it’s perks, and so does mine.”

“Ok. I can’t take it anymore. I totally looked Dean up. I saw one of his porn movies!”

Cas gasped and laughed. “Did you like it?”

“I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Well. Guy on guy. You probably never saw anything like that.”

“Not really. I saw Brokeback Mountain. I thought I could handle it, but...”

“Oh, honey,” Cas touched her shoulder. “You sweet little cherub.”

“Shut up. What I took away from the whole thing is: like, what an over actor.”

Cas gasped, this time, in true offence. “You take that back!”

“Come on, the screams and the drooling. It’s obviously fake!”

“Clearly, you don’t understand the purposes of porn.”

“I will say this, though,” Jo said, dragging out a keg, “The guy is sexy."

“And he’s totally my boyfriend.”

She dropped the keg handle, and the thing landed on her toe. She screamed, spun around, hopped, and then sat on the bar while Cas cradled her foot to make sure nothing was broken. She smacked him in the head. “Boyfriend? Since when?”

“Since _the kiss_. We talked about it. And, well, we’re going to try to make it work!”

Jo gasped and then laughed. “You’re totally dating a porn star!”

“I know!”

“Ever wish you could go back in time and tell your teenage self how good it can get?”

“Teenage me didn’t know sex was a thing. He’d have no idea what a porn star even was.”

Jo laughed.

*******

Sam was late for lunch, but Dean was so excited to share his news he didn’t even care. Giving his little brother a big grin he held out his hand. “Lemme see it.”

Sam rolled his eyes but handed over the badge. Dean flipped it open once or twice, and then studied the city seal and Sam’s numbers.

“You need a better retirement plan.”

“This is my retirement plan. I’m going to learn how to make fake badges and sell ‘em.”

“Give me that,” Sam snatched it away and put it out of sight. Dean laughed.

“Remember that guy I was telling you about?” Dean said once they had ordered.

“The ace guy. What was his name?”

“Cas. We’re boyfriends now.”

“Wow. So you talked him into it?”

“I gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Dean said airily before getting serious. “Best fucking kiss _of my life_.”

“Congratulations.”

Dean sighed. “Sammy. I want you to have this. What I’m feeling for this guy. Who do you have in your life? Are you even looking? Why are you making that face?”

“Because, Dean, when you’re happy you get motherly, and it’s annoying as hell.”

“What are you talking about? C’mere,” he licked a thumb and made to wipe something off Sam’s face. Sam blocked him and they laughed. Food showed up and they dug in. Dean couldn’t help sighing every couple of minutes.

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry. Cas is just... It’s perfect. We thought it couldn’t work, but it weirdly does! It works, what we have!”

“Okay. The last time you were like this you were dating that bear guy. Benny. You said there couldn’t be a more perfect arrangement then, too.”

“So what are you getting at, Sammy?”

“You just need to slow down a little, Dean. Benny hurt you bad, or don’t you even remember? I just don’t want to see you go through that again.”

“Thanks, but this is _nothing_ like Benny. I was a naive shithead when I met Benny.”

“Right,” Sam smirked, “So how is this different?”

“We don’t work together for one. And for two, Cas is special. What I need is exactly what he can give. Mostly. Listen, it’s super complicated. But it’s good right now.”

“Well...okay….I’m glad you’re happy, Dean.”

“I am. Now who are you dating? There’s gotta be someone!”

The rest of the lunch passed with Sam talking around his food about a woman at his gym. Dean listened with dimples in his smile. Sam was kind of a shark when it came to women. He’d circle for days before going in for the kill.

They ate. Dean advised that Sam really try with this gym girl even though being a detective usually complicated serious dating.

“Complicated doesn’t have to be a death sentence, dude.”

***

At the start of the next month, Dean met with his director and agents and went over some contractual issues about an upcoming movie, which ended with everyone satisfied. He walked into Harvelle’s with a spring in his step. Cas was behind the bar, serving a full house, and could only spare Dean the brightest and widest of smiles.

Heart fluttering, Dean turned towards an empty table and almost tripped over a small blonde woman. “Whoa. Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Dean, right?”

He gave her a closer look. Some fans really flew under the radar. “Yeah.”

“I’m Jo. I work with Cas.”

“Ah, of course,” he recognized her now as the shortstop occasionally behind the bar before Cas showed up. Back before this place became like a second home to him. “Yeah. Ellen’s daughter. How’s it going?”

“You tell me. Cas says you guys are dating now.”

“Yup. Yeah. We are.”

“I know everything.”

“Okay?” Dean says, eyebrows lowered.

“I don’t know how dating a porn star works. But Cas is one of my best friends. If you hurt him, I’m coming after you. That pretty backside of yours won’t be fit for a camera once I’m done with you.”

The top of her head reached him below the chin, but he believed she could do some serious damage. He backed up with his hands in the air. “Message received loud and clear.”

“Good. His shift ends in a few minutes. You two have fun. Don’t get too crazy.”

***

Becoming boyfriends uncorked something in Dean. Cas started to see a new side to him. He was free with the nicknames, prone to soft caresses, and a true master at hickeys and long make out sessions and cuddling with exchanges of sweet little nothings. They traded dreams and secrets. Cas divulged the details of his dishonorable discharge and Dean talked about his various retirement plans which he had shared with no one else.

He seemed to pick up fast that Cas’ favorite thing was for Dean to comb his fingers through his thick dark tresses, and so did it often. He also noted that Cas’ weakness was a spoonful of honey in hot tea of a morning and so never forgot to add some.

Dean also noted Cas’ casual collection of things with bumblebees on them and so, a month into their sexless relationship, surprised him with a bumblebee tie. Cas loved it immediately. It was a magnified photo of a cluster of daisies with bees clinging to the petals and Dean presented it with a yellow vest that perfectly matched the yellow accents in the pattern.

But the main difference between friend Dean and boyfriend Dean  was the way he now asked Cas about the latest videos. He wanted specifics about what Cas liked, openly planning to do more of this and less of that as Cas critiqued his work. It was strange at first, to share this kind of stuff, because he’d never done it before.

But it became easy when Dean kept it mostly professional, never trying to take this information and use it in the moment, testing those no longer firm limits which he had so shaken up with one amazing kiss.

No, Dean never pressured. Whenever their kissing went on and on, and Dean became hard, he left that detail out of the picture. Cas ignored it and so did Dean. That didn’t mean Cas was at ease. Every single time he felt Dean get hard, he began to worry, even when he tried to put it from his mind, he couldn’t help but fret.

 _He wants it, needs it even. He can’t help it. You’re causing this, Cas, and you won’t do anything about it. That’s so unfair_. When the guilt got to be too much like this he tended to withdraw from Dean a little. The porn star seemed hurt at first, but when Cas explained, he did his best to assure him to the contrary.

“A boner isn't a medical emergency, Cas. I'll survive."

"But you can't be totally fulfilled if you aren't getting everything you need."

"I do get everything I need, Cas. Because when I’m at work, I think about you. I imagine you watching me and getting off. And in that way we’re getting off together. It works.”

Cas actually started to believe it could be true. That it could be that simple. That beautiful of a solution.

Then, one day, reality crashed into the scene.

Cas had woken from a good dream, hard as a rock. Dean wasn’t there. They didn't spend _every_ night together. So Cas oiled up and played for the first time since becoming boyfriends with his best friend.

God, it was good. No longer was he imagining hypothetical scenarios surrounding Dean’s perfect body, but real ones. Real memories.

He wrapped himself in his feelings for Dean, those heart hammering, stomach flipping, gut wrenchingly intimate scenes. He sank into Dean’s up close eyes and his so very pink lips and his muscles—oh, god, his muscles and the deep rasp of his voice. His understanding, his acceptance, the sheer desire in his eyes. Those freckles. The fact that when he was making this video, for real, Dean was thinking of Cas and no one else.

_He’s thinking of me and it feels that good. Feels this good._

The thought that Dean knew Cas was watching was electrifying. Cas came harder than ever.

Then he looked up, and Dean was standing in the crack of the bedroom door.

* * *

Dean knew better. He really did. He just couldn’t help himself; he was weak and so pathetically obsessed with Cas that he forgot himself. He forgot everything but how this, this was what he craved.

Two months of dating, kissing, cuddling, talking, laughing, even crying, and he’d never seen Cas naked. Not once. Cas got to see him naked all the time. But he never got to see Cas, and he never said anything. He’d promised he wouldn’t pressure.

But when Dean let himself in—as he’d become accustomed—and heard the distinct sounds of his own porn video, he knew instantly what was happening in Cas’ bed. The bedroom door was ajar. Dean never had a thought not to go see.

God, Cas was a sight there in the middle of the sheets, wearing nothing but his ink and jewelry, oiled up, eyes locked on the screen, fisting his ruddy, leaking cock in a fast fierce motion and those _sounds_ . Gasps and moans and whines and rasping, Dean was hard and his heart was aching, _aching_ for this exquisite sky-eyed man in the sky colored sheets.

He did nothing but watch. He didn’t touch himself or have a single thought of joining him. He just watched. He just had to see.

And then Cas came—and it was glorious—but he looked up and saw Dean. And the roof caved in when a look of abject horror flashed across Cas’ blissed expression. His perfect eyes shuttered and his jaw went stiff and he cried out and covered himself and screamed, “WHAT THE HELL?”

Dean realized then he fucked up. Cas yelled and ranted and slammed the door in his face and then reemerged dressed and livid. His nostrils flared, and he said things like _how dare you_ and had these ugly angry tears in his eyes, this heart wrenching wobble in his lips, but his hands were balled in fists and he never broke down. He only stayed firm and angry.

“I _never_ said you could watch me.”

‘But you watch me all the time!”

“Because you _like_ to be watched!”

“And you don’t, not even when it’s me?”

“No!”

That hurt. Dean’s instinct was to hurt back. “Seriously? I’m you’re _boyfriend_! What’s wrong with you?”

Wrong thing to say.

Cas threw him out and didn’t answer his phone or show up at work for a week. Apparently he had vacation time, according to the fiery eyed Jo, and it was none of Dean’s business anyway.

When Cas finally did call Dean back, all he said was, “We have to talk. Come over.”

Dean brought flowers in a green vase with a bee covered ribbon tied in a bow around it, and a well-rehearsed speech. When Cas opened the door and saw the flowers, his eyes darted for a moment to Dean’s face, but then away and he stepped aside to allow Dean in.

“I am _so sorry_ , Cas,” Dean said. Just like in the twenty or so messages he’d left on Cas’ voice mail.

“Dean—“

“No, let me say this. I fucked up. I crossed a line. I get that. And you’re probably about to officially break up with me—“ His voice thinned and nearly broke. He stopped to clear his throat. “Because, well, I deserve it. But just, let me tell you why I was looking. Please?”

Cas sighed, crossed his arms, and leaned on the kitchen counter.

Dean put the flowers on the dining room table. The cat hurried then from down the hall, eagerly rubbing against his leg and purring. Dean bent to give her a hello scratch, feeling a well of tears.  If this was the end, he’d miss even the damn cat.

“I _crave_ you, Cas. And I was doing my best to be what you needed, to go at your pace, to be accepting and trusting and respectful. God, Cas, the last thing I ever wanted was to—to disappoint—“ his voice did break then and he turned away, covering his mouth. When he was back in control he cleared his throat.

“When I came in and realized what you were doing… I couldn’t help it. It’s a pathetic reason, and it’s not grounds for an excuse but two months. Three, actually, considering that I wanted you soon as I saw you. So three months and you never so much as sent me a pic of you shirtless, but there you were. Everything I wanted.”

Cas closed his eyes and hung his head.

“I should have told you that I needed to at least see you. Maybe we could have worked out you recording yourself or something. I realize that would have been much better than spying on you in person, I just didn’t think. That’s the problem with us sexual guys, when it comes to the people we love, we lose all the blood from our brains and we can’t think.”

Cas looked up sharply and Dean dared a step closer, “I am _so in love_ with you Cas.” Tears welled in Dean’s eyes and he let them fall unchecked, “Sweetheart, I’m head over heels and I just needed—I just need _more_ of you, because I can’t get enough. And in that moment just peeking in at you seemed like a harmless way to get it.”

They were both crying now. Cas though, stayed leaning on the counter with his arms crossed tightly, like a shield. He wouldn’t look up at Dean, either. He just watched the cat where it had stretched, a shameless whore for Dean’s special attention, across Dean’s path.

“Believe me, I heard everything you ever said about your asexuality and what you’re looking for and how you feel. And I _swear_ , I was never going to ask for more than you offered, not ever. I was going to rise above everything I’ve known and be what you need, but I realize now that I still have needs, Cas. I still need— _to be able to make love with you_ when looking at you makes me feel _alive_ , when holding you isn’t close enough, when kissing you just skims the surface of what I feel for you.”

“Dean,” Cas’ voice broke.

“I get it if you can’t love me back after what I did. I get that. I just need you to know that it wasn’t lust or arrogance or disregard that put me in that doorway. It was nothing but the most powerful love I have ever felt.”

“Stop talking,” Cas demanded and it was like he crumbled. The hard statue of Cas across the room with his arms crossed and his eyes averted shattered and the Cas that cried in his arms that first night rushed at him, straight into his arms.

“I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Cas said against his shirt. “Missteps like that were bound to happen in a new mixed relationship. And I realize now we talked way more about how I feel and what I want than how you feel and what you want. We’ll learn from this that we need a better balance of communication. It’s not just all about me.”

Dean held onto him, trying not to squeeze the life out of him though that was his heart’s instinct. “We’re not over?”

“No, because I’m in love with you, too.”

“Oh, thank you, god.” Dean said and it was an honest comment made towards whatever gods may be. He sagged into Cas’ arms and held on tighter.

***

Dean talked about his own needs and preferences. It was clearly not something he’d ever had to spell out to someone before. None of it was as organized and thorough as Cas’ lectures. The poor man probably said “um I don’t know” or “You know what I mean—or, fuck, you don’t,” more times than they could count. But slowly, he began to make Cas understand.

It was all about the line between sex and making love.

Dean Winchester the porn star had sex for a living. For him it was a function that could be switched on and off. He could detach from it, become someone else for the scene. Acting.

Dean Winchester the boyfriend hadn’t had the opportunity to make love in years. He craved the act like Cas craved kisses, because it brought two pieces together in a physical way blended with emotional ways, and the trust involved in falling apart together was _the_ signature move, the cleanest, simplest show-don’t-tell way of saying I love you.

Cas sat there with his feet beneath himself, grinning nonstop, eyes so zeroed in on Dean’s vulnerable facial expressions as he talked, that the rest of the world was a colorless haze. When he finally stopped talking, Cas kissed him once, short and sweet, before speaking,

“You’re not the first person to tell me it will be more fun to orgasm with them as opposed to doing it alone.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I know I—“

Cas stopped his lips moving. “No, Dean. Shh. You _are_ the first person that I think _might_ be right. MAYBE.”

His toned chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyelashes fluttered, “So. You--are we—what’s that mean?”

Palms a little on the damp side, Cas gulped. He was hard. Not rock hard, but certainly aroused at the thought of Dean. Nothing new there, except the mental image of having Dean with him in bed, bringing about the pleasure with his own hands….it stirred things in Cas that weren’t usually stirred by such thoughts.

“I’m saying I can’t promise anything. But I want to try for you, Dean. Like you’ve been trying for me. I want to give it a shot at least. I’m feeling…so many things, and it’s so confused because of my browser history, but I think….I-I mean…” he met Dean’s hopeful eye and just said it. “Give me your hand.”

He put Dean’s hand on the bulge in his lap. Dean instantly gave it an analytical little squeeze, and then a rub, eyes cutting up to Cas to see if he was wrong. Cas bit his lip, breathing deeply as the pleasure unfurled. He smiled, “Feels good.”

Dean’s pupils dilated and he didn’t stop. Cas kissed him and for several minutes, it stayed at this level. Kissing and touching, yeah, Cas could—oh, wait, wait, it was supposed to be _mutual_ touching. When the thought occurred to him, Cas reached blindly for Dean’s lap to return the favor. The hard ridge he found was initially jarring like all the times before, but it meant something a little different now. Dean wasn’t looking for sex, more like he was looking to get lost for a minute with someone he trusted.

“Cas,” Dean said breathily, eyes droping closed, “Oh, yeah.”

Cas was waiting for Dean to take initiative here, but another several minutes went by with just the two of them kissing and petting each other like teenagers.

(Previous lovers used to say that scathingly, like Cas just needed to grow up and want adult sex.) Dean didn’t seem to mind. He smiled even as they kissed, he trembled and released breathy sounds to match Cas’.

“I’m having so much fun,” Dean said, when Cas threw caution to the wind and pulled the porn star into his lap. Dean paused there, eyes growing worried, “Are you?”

Cas nodded. “I thought for sure you’d have me naked by now.”

“Real life doesn’t have fade outs like the movies. I like to take my time undressing. That’s where the fun is.”

“Because it’s not like work.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m good until clothes come off," Cas admitted, "That’s when I start to really freak.”

Dean hushed him and kissed him, a slow, gentle press of lips. “Then don’t take your clothes off.”

A puff of breath meant to be laughter, Cas already felt more confident about this now that he wasn’t expected to strip. Dean rolled his pelvis into Cas’ hard enough to make his mind go blank. He clutched Dean to him and they rocked, grinding their clothed erections together with frantic little thrusts. Dean started to sweat and pant. Cas felt on the edge too.

Like, this-could-make-me-come on edge. Here, right now, _with_ someone. A one way street, keep going and it happens. Cas closed his eyes against these unsexy thoughts and focused on Dean, Dean’s body, Dean’s sounds. He realized Dean was doing a lot of touching and kissing on Cas that Cas wasn’t returning. This stuff should be returned, right?

Kissing Dean’s neck made the man suddenly gasp with pleasure and grab hold of Cas tighter in this animal way that was suddenly six stories higher than Cas had so far climbed.

Feeling totally left behind in the race, Cas tried to give his voice to his pleasure, like Dean was doing with those perfect moans, but the sounds he heard himself make didn’t help him catch up to Dean, they only sounded ridiculous and felt phony so he clammed up and stopped making sounds all together.

And giving back the kisses and caresses and gropes had to stop, too. Because everything he did spiked Dean’s enthusiasm in a way that made Cas far too aware of how not actually ‘spiked’ he himself was in this. Sure, he had that liquid feeling in his body he associated with sex, but it was nothing on a level like what Dean seemed to be suffering.

 _Okay, okay, it’s okay. You’re doing okay_ , Cas told himself. _It’s not a competition._ With his eyes closed, his hands stationary on Dean’s shoulders, his lips to himself, and his sounds stoppered, Cas tried his best to dive into it all. He internalized it, every bit of the pleasure Dean brought to Cas’ crotch by pressing and rocking against the front of his jeans, Cas funneled it inward, trying to use it to coat over the anxiety, the self-conscious voices, the doubt.

Dean suddenly stopped, “You okay?”

God, Cas hated this part. It happened every time. He started to freak, to withdraw, to turn into a cold fish and thus he ruined the mood to the point where his partner had to _stop_ and start a conversation.

When he was younger he used to blindly insist he was fine and go through with it all anyway. But he had too much self-respect to do that now, but also too much love for Dean to make him stop.

“Um,” he answered, teetering on the edge between doing what they set out to do here—sex—or being true to himself, recognizing his own limits and needs. But before he could decide, Dean was already pulling away.

“You’re freaking out?”

He was, and it didn’t make sense anymore to deny it. “I just,” he tried desperately, “I started thinking—too much or—whatever—I still want to try.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dean said still raging hard in his jeans, his breathing still a little funny, “No more than this for tonight.”

Sheer relief coursed through Cas and only then did he realize how scared he’d been, how tense. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he began but Dean hushed him with a sweet kiss.

“You just keep being you, baby,” Dean whispered to him. Cas threw his arms around Dean and held him tight. Dean squeezed him back. Their closeness only drew Cas’ attention to Dean’s need once more.

He caused that, he excited it more than ever, and he’s leaving it like this. Guilt crashed through him and suddenly he was talking, reaching for Dean’s jeans button and fly, “I’ll, um, I’ll jerk you off or something.”

“Cas,” Dean cried in a breathy laugh as he caught Cas’ hand before it plunged into his shorts. “You don’t gotta.”

Dean clearly needed to come, so much so that he hedged when he would usually staunchly refuse anything that might be too sexual for Cas. He hedged because he needed it _that_ bad. Because they, as a couple, were communicating and sharing about Dean’s needs, too.

“But I don’t want to leave you hanging,” Cas insisted. “I can’t let go enough to let you make me come but I can help you—if you really need it?”

Dean gave in and allowed Cas to pull his leaking cock out. The next couple of minutes unfolded like a nightmare for Cas.

He pumped Dean’s dick, smearing the slick all over it. Dean sighed with pleasure and bucked into the strokes a little… but this angle of jerking was weird for Cas, and he wasn’t feeling anything remotely sexy. He could feel Dean’s eyes boring into him, which was only making him more self-conscious, and basically, it was a lot of work and he was getting nothing out of it.

Dean wasn’t even moaning that much. Cas’ arm muscles started to burn. He started to fret that he wasn’t doing something right because it was too quiet, and Dean wasn’t doing those weird spikes of animal enthusiasm like before. He tried going faster or harder or something to make it better, ended up doing both all at once and Dean hissed and laughed and told him to go easier.

And, humiliated, Cas realized he was utterly fucking this up. He was failing to get a porn star off.

His eyes pricked, his rhythm faulted.

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly and he stopped Cas’ hand and cupped his face, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” Cas rasped. The moment was nowhere near sexual anymore. It was just weird. Just straight up weird and uncomfortable and humiliating and Cas’ fault. All his fault.

“That’s okay,” Dean was saying and he repositioned them both so that they were laying against the pillows, stretched out in their usual cuddling position, Cas’ safe zone. He carded his fingers through Cas’ hair, “Thanks for trying, but it’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I should,” Cas sniffed, lips wobbling, “I should give you everything you want. You don’t deserve—“

“Cas,” Dean cut in, “It’s fine.”

A bitter sound leapt out of Cas, then, “Ha! I know what _it’s fine_ means, Dean. I’ve been using that with lovers for years. _It’s fine_ just means everything is wrong but there’s nothing that can be done about it. _It’s fine_ is not _okay_ —“ And with that, Cas wrenched himself out of Dean’s arms, out of the bed altogether, and he fled to the bathroom.

Alone against the locked door, Cas broke down into sobs.

* * *

Everything _was_ wrong and there _was_ nothing he could do about it. Dean sat, lost, on the bed hearing Cas’ sobs through the closed door with no idea anymore what he was doing. Cas had said once that mixed orientation relationships didn’t work. Dean had stubbornly believed they could be an exception to that rule.

Had he been naïve?

The fact was he’d been having a good time with Cas, kissing and touching…. Until Cas shut down on him. And, okay, the hand job had been basically a joke, but most hand jobs (besides your own) usually were. Cas offered because that was all he was comfortable trying and Dean was happy to get what he could. Or so he thought. He got up, tucking his now placid, blue balled cock back into his jeans.

Outside the bathroom door, he tapped on the wood, “Cas?”

“You—should—probably—go—“ Cas managed between sobs.

“I ain’t leaving you,” Dean said at once with firm resolve. He tried the knob. Locked. “C’mon, Cas, let me in.”

Silence met this as Cas reined in his grief. With a few sniffs, he asked, “What are we doing, Dean?”

Dean grinned, “Talking through a door because you won’t let me hold you.”

“No, really,” Cas insisted but a moment later the door opened and red eyed Cas stood before him, “What if this is it? What if I can’t give anymore? You’ll dump me won’t you?”

“Cas,” Dean breathed because it hurt to think like that. It _hurt_. He took Cas’ hands and pulled him close into an embrace, “Stop thinking like that.”

“Be honest, Dean,” Cas pulled away to meet his eye, and his eyes were _so sincere_ , like a lost little puppy. “Am I, exactly as I am right now, enough for you?”

In respect to the gravity of the question, Dean gave it real thought. He looked back steady into those wonderful blue irises. Cas, for all the painful missteps and awkward beats and downright frustrating limits, Cas was still Cas. He was still a whole new level of special. He was still the one person Dean craved.

That craving, though, that was the problem. Could he live forever craving but never indulging beyond a certain point? Could he sustain that kind of frustration? A part of him wanted to insist that tonight Cas’ limits had moved a little and if he could only be patient, they would keep giving way a little bit at a time until…

But no. _No_. That wasn’t Cas’ question. The question was: if this was the hard limit, never budging, with no ‘improvement’—would that be enough?

Dean sighed, “There’s so much that I want with you, Cas. And to be honest, I’m not sure how much of that I really _need_ and how much of it I’m just accustomed to getting. I just don’t know right now, baby.”

Cas nodded, accepting Dean’s truth, and moved back into his arms. They returned together to the bed and climbed in, snuggling close. Cas sighed and sagged against Dean, who marveled at how relaxed Cas was in this moment compared to earlier when he was trying to have sex. It was like two different bodies, one pliant and trusting, the other made of steel and wariness. He pondered at the human brain and what happened in Cas’ wiring that made sex so impossible for him.

But he’d had sex before, even though he’d always felt like this. Dean felt sick at the thought. What assholes in Cas’ past kept going even after he closed off from them? Did they not see how uncomfortable he was? _Feel_ it? Did they know but just not care? And he _let_ them do whatever they wanted, because he thought he had to. He thought _he_ was the messed up one, instead of the monsters that took what they wanted, used his body and ignored the rest.

“Cas?” Dean asked into the quiet. He wasn’t sure if his boyfriend had fallen asleep or not. He tended to do that when they cuddled.

“Hm?”

“I want to be everything you never believed you could have. I want to find a way, no matter what, okay?”

“You can’t put yourself second like that. It’s not how it works, Dean.”

“That’s _exactly_ how it works.”

“It shouldn’t be. No one should be before the other in a relationship. Trust me, it isn’t healthy.” It was in Cas’ tone, he was talking about his days of obedient sex, where he put the sexual needs of his partners before his own comfort. Also in his voice was this dejected kind of finality, “I can’t be sexual for you and you can’t be abstinent for me.”

“I’m a porn star, Cas, I won’t be abstinent.”

“You will be when it comes to having sex with an emotional connection.”

“I’ve gotten by fine these last couple years without emotional sex.”

“But all that time you didn’t have emotions for someone, either. Can you have feelings but not physically express them, Dean?”

The porn star huffed, annoyed to find himself right back where he’d been earlier. The big question that only time could tell: can he love Cas without ever making love to Cas?

 

Sensing that the topic of sex was beginning to wear on Cas, Dean let the whole thing alone for a couple of weeks. He devoted his attention to keeping sex strictly at work while in the meantime he took Cas to dinner, walked around town holding hands with him, watched TV with him, cooked meals with him, played with the cat, had tickle fights, exchanged hickeys, slow danced in the living room, and went shopping for new shirts. They never went a day without laughing so hard their ribs hurt. They frequently had in-depth discussions about everything from details concerning their day at work to childhood memories, to tattoos verses brands, piercings verses gages, and nail paint.

Cas painted Dean’s fingers and toes green, and he forgot to take it off for work, but his director decided it helped his eyes pop and so he made a video tagged #boys wearing nail polish.

At first, Dean honestly believed he’d stumbled upon a mutually beneficial partnership. He’d give Cas intimate companionship and Cas would rile him up so that he could go into work and blow the roof off.

And at first, it did work this way. He’d come in to work with a boner so hard and resilient that Aaron the fluffer could have the day off. He’d cum like he was dying and the whole crew would applaud him when the cameras stopped rolling.

But then… well, it got old.

He would hold Cas close in bed, feel his breathing, feel his heartbeat, comb his hair and whisper how much he loved him, pepper him with little kisses and make him giggle. They would talk until they fell asleep and Dean would wake in the morning with the smell of Cas’ hair in his nose and their feet tangled. But his morning wood—no one ever touched it. It was there for Cas, but Cas didn’t want it. He had to give it instead to _Cain,_ who was a nice enough guy but who really didn’t deserve it.

“Am I doin’ something you don’t like?” Cain asked one day during a break when Dean needed Aaron’s administrations to stay motivated. With Aaron’s lips locked around him and his dark head bobbing and efficiently, by sheer sensation, filling his cock back out, Dean sighed; he’d been afraid of this.

“No, it’s not you,” Dean said to the stark naked older man sitting beside him in the set bed. “I’m kinda dealing with some stuff with my boyfriend.” He didn’t know how else to say it than that. The bluntly honest: _my body is starting to refuse to ejaculate for anyone other than who it wants_ , sounded well, like the truth, but he would have to give some explanations that weren’t any of their business.

“Word from the wise?” Cain asked, “You and he need to fuck that stuff out of your system before you come into work. Emotional baggage will end a career.”

Useful advice if he and Cas had a remotely normal relationship. So Dean began to fret. He felt like it had finally finally come down to Cas or his career, and he didn’t want to lose either one. He did his best to stay in control of his little crisis. He rehearsed how to bring it up with Cas—after all, success hinged on communication.

 _Cas, I need more_ . No, that’ll freak him out. He’ll think it’s you breaking up with him. _Cas, can we try again_ ? No, that’s pressuring him. _Cas, baby I want you_ . No, that’s pressuring him, too. _Cas… I’m scared._

They needed to try again, but he didn’t feel right asking Cas, so he started just hoping Cas would offer on his own. But over the next week, whenever they were fooling around, enjoying one another on the couch or in the bed, and Dean got hard, Cas ignored it. Even when Dean knew for a fact Cas had noticed.

Dean's attempts at masturbation only ended in frustration.

He reached his tipping point one evening when Cas’ thigh brushed Dean’s cock in his sweats and almost like it was a snake, Cas retreated and, with a casual kind of pep, hopped out of bed with some comments about needing food—

“Dammit, Cas! You don’t want anything to eat, you’re just running away rather than facing the fact that it’s time for you to try again to make me come.”

Cas froze, eyes wide and falling away from Dean, a blush darkening his cheeks. Dean instantly felt bad but his blood was boiling. He got out of the bed in a huff, “You know what? Why don’t you make another freakin’ bowl of popcorn. I’m gonna go buy a dildo that can get your job done for you.” And with that, he marched from the apartment.

In the elevator, it hit him what he’d just said—what he’d _done_ and he collapsed against the wall in a panic. He fucked up again. Shit. _Shit_ . That was a really awful horrible thing to— _shit_! He hit the return button for the elevator but when it reached the ground level as it was originally told to do and the doors opened, Dean found himself striding out anyway and leaving the elevator to return to Cas’ floor without him.

 _Fuck_.

He pulled out his phone, Cas picked up on the first ring and Dean immediately started talking, “Cas, baby, I’m just so frustrated—“

“Maybe you shouldn’t come back, Dean,” Cas sniffed. He was on the verge of crying again, Dean could hear it. Dean’s knees almost gave out and he slumped against the wall.

“Of course I should. I’m just—work hasn’t been going that great. I guess these feelings I have for you are blocking me when I’m with other guys. I just—god, Cas, please, _please_ , try to understand. I’m just so—I need—“

“I can’t fuck you,” Cas whispered.

“I’m not asking you to!” Dean snapped into the line.

“Yes you are!” Cas cried.

“ _No_ , I’m _not_ ,” Dean growled.

“Then, what? You want to fuck me? Well, it’s not happening, Dean. I don’t like it like that. I never did.”

“Wait, wait,” Dean cut in to what sounded like hysterics on Cas’ end. “Baby, just take a breath, okay? If anyone is getting a cock in his ass, it’s me. That’s just the way I roll.” His humor fell dead when when Cas didn’t laugh.

“But I can’t—“

Dean cut in, “I know. But you can help me in other ways.”

Cas’ laugh was bitter, “Another pathetically disastrous hand job?”

“God, no.” This brought a short, sincere chuckle from Cas, albeit a wet sounding one. Dean wished he hadn’t stormed out of the apartment. He wished he could comb Cas’ hair over his ear so that he would know everything was alright. But he wasn’t there with Cas, he was down here in the lobby. And suddenly he was leaving the apartment building all together.

“Make your popcorn, sweetheart,” he said warmly, “I’m gonna grab some things and be right back, okay?”

“Dean,” Cas sounded unsure.

“I know I’m a major son of a bitch but can you trust me on this one thing?” Dean asked.

A long silence and Cas sighed, “Alright.”

“See you soon, baby. Love you.”

“Love you,” Cas echoed.

* * *

Cas sat at the kitchen table with a huge bowl of buttery popcorn. The cat eyed the tasty treats. He tossed her a piece occasionally. The silence in the apartment was starting to sound just a little too much like being stood up on prom night. He moaned at the memory of Dean’s hurtful words, brought on by frustration that he caused.

Cas had believed these last few weeks to be easy, fun, the best they ever had. But Dean was suffering in silence the whole time. God, what were they _doing_ here? How stupid could they be to think they could make this work?

A knock at the front door sent Cas straight to his feet. He hurried to answer. Dean stood sheepish on the mat. He hadn’t stood by the formality of knocking sense their last big fight when he’d spied on Cas’ alone time. This time, just like then, he came back with flowers—but also a bag.

He lifted his eyebrows all adorably, “Let’s pretend I wasn’t such a dick.”

“No sense denying who you are.”

“Oh-ho!” Dean laughed, stepping through into the apartment, handing over the flowers and pressing a sweet kiss to Cas’ cheek. “I really, _really_ do love you, Cas.”

The most painful part was that Cas knew this, and he loved Dean right back. That was the worst part of all.

“I got us something. No pressure—but can we try it tonight? I’m about to explode over here. In case you didn’t notice.”

Cas smiled weakly, doubtful even in the face of Dean’s obvious attempt to return to their normal easy joking selves, “What is it?”

A vibrating, life like gel dildo. Oh, so he did get one after all. Cas grimaced at it. Dean only chuckled. “Just trust me, okay?”

“Dean,” Cas sighed, “I’m no good at making other people feel good. I—I just don’t know how to read what you want, what you like, what to keep doing or what to stop doing and it’s all just so—“

“Shhhh,” Dean stepped forward and pressed their lips together, “You literally won’t do anything but watch from across the room, okay?”

Cas’ doubt fell away and he looked at his boyfriend in surprise, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dean looked so _smug,_ “No different than your videos. Except I’m life sized and in the room.” He took a fist full of popcorn with a shrug, “Guess if that starts making you feel weird you can imagine I’m a life sized hologram or something.”

“You want me to jerk off in the corner while you ride that thing?”

Dean chewed some puffed up kernels, jumped his eyebrows, “Baby I just want you to watch me ride it. Whatever you do with yourself is your business; I won’t be paying much attention to you to be honest.”

 

In the bedroom, Cas sat in a kitchen chair. He felt weird. Excited, nervous like he was about to see his favorite band live in concert with front row seats. Dean, the dildo and some lube joining him beside him on the bedspread, started removing his clothes.

“How is me just watching going to work?” Cas asked as more and more of Dean’s skin became visible. “I mean, you know I’m watching everything you make at work, but you said that way is not doing it for you anymore.”

“This is nothing like work, Cas,” Dean said, pushing his jeans down to the floor. “The stuff I do there, you’re not the only one seeing it. There’s like twelve people involved, and you’re not watching it live; I just know you _will_ be watching it soon. But this? This is just you and me. And everything I do is for your eyes only.”

Cas’ blood sped up into a swift race through his veins and he smiled, “I like that.”

“God, Cas, you can’t know how much I like it, too.”

Totally naked, Dean climbed on the bed, his back to Cas, his knees planted apart on the quilt. His high, perfectly bubble, and freckled ass should be set in stone for posterity’s sake. Cas began to feel the swirls of Alone Time as Dean lubed his fingers and pushed them slowly down the crack of his ass, grabbing handfuls of his firm ass cheek with the other hand and pulling it away so that Cas could see glimpses of his pink hole shining with lube as he teased it.

The show from there was nothing Cas hadn’t already seen a hundred times in Dean’s solo videos over the years. But this was so much better than those videos. The lighting was real, the angles were natural, and nothing was suddenly up close and in Cas’ face—he sort of always hated that, preferring the full aesthetic of a whole naked body moving with the motions of sex. There was no cheesy music and Cas would stake his soul on the fact that not a single sound Dean made was exaggerated for the paycheck. He was being real, organic. For Cas.

Dean’s head dropped back as he speared two fingers knuckle deep inside himself with one hand, and pumped his dick with the other, “Caaaaaaaaassssss,” he moaned. Cas’ cock twitched in his pants and his breathing thinned. Dean had never been allowed to say his name on set, though he promised to have tried to get away with it on several occasions. “CasCasCasCas,” he canted with the rhythm of his hips. His voice wasn’t pitched to carry well across a set; it was a raspy, raw whisper. Visceral.

Cas pressed his palm to his own hard cock and sighed. Dean withdrew his fingers and reached for the dildo, coating it liberally in lube, “Watch what I can do for you, baby. Just thinking about you.”

He lined up and pushed himself onto the toy’s considerable girth. If Cas cared, he’d have been embarrassed that he couldn’t match that toy in size. But as it was, he had no urges to take the toy’s place.

Why should he? It was doing its job perfectly, stretching Dean’s hole and filling him up so that he groaned out a guttural sound of pleasure and pain. Cas could watch from here and have more fun than he would if he tried to get involved with the professional and muck it all up like before.

Dean rolled his head back, pumping his cock lazily as he adjusted to the toy, “My favorite thing about you is your eyes, Cas. I can feel them on me and that just… you make me feel _alive_.”

Cas pressed harder on his cock but didn’t stroke it, biting his bottom lip. If he spoke he’d ruin it, say something stupid and sound dumb while he said it. Dean repositioned on the bed, going down on his side, facing Cas now but lifting his leg high as he began to move the toy in and out.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Cas dragged his chair closer. Dean cried out with a gasping little, “yes, Cas, god, yes,” and pumped the toy harder. “Get close, watch me come for you. Just for you.”

“Me?” Cas asked without thinking, his voice as rough as he felt.

Dean keened, arching, “Yes, you, baby. Cas, it’s you. _I’m yours_.”

“Mine,” Cas repeated with a smile because he knew what it would do, and he was right. Dean keened again and worked himself harder with a litany of swears.

“Wanna fuck me?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas answered honestly and Dean laughed. He laughed even as he came apart. Cas moved from his chair to the edge of the bed, though, “I wanna watch you come. You’re gonna come just for me.”

“God, _yes_!” Dean keened and with the toy deep in his clenched ass and his fist flying, Dean came with a shout and a sob that sounded like “Cas!” But was too blurry and filled with bliss to be a real word. Dean stroked through with heavy, whimpering breaths and coated his abdomen with his jizz.

Cas knelt on the carpet beside the bed near Dean’s head and, gripping his chin, kissed him deeply. Dean kissed back like he would die without it. When they did part, gasping for breath, Cas smiled. “Feel better?”

That same glassy-eyed blissed out look as Cas had become familiar with through porn, but softened with the low burn of devotion, Dean nodded, slurred, “How’yafeel?”

“Happy,” Cas said, retrieving the wet wipes he kept in here for his own clean up purposes and opening the pack. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dean.”

He started cleaning the porn star up, wiping the mess and sweat from his skin. Dean's eyes lingered on him as he worked, this droopy, happy, sleepy look. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingers through Cas' hair over his ear.

Cas leaned into the touch.

 

On paper it barely made sense. A porn star and an asexual in a committed, loving relationship—they would never be free of the endless questions and ignorant assumptions made about them. To strangers they were a homosexual couple. Those who understood Cas’ tat assumed Dean was also asexual, unless they recognized him at which point, Cas and Dean traded a look and went through the script.

Having a well-rehearsed “power-point presentation” that included the visual aid of the tat as well as Dean’s Meg Ryan impression did wonders. They managed to convey the boundaries of their relationship without getting too personal about it.

For the sake of time, they usually went with the “he doesn’t fuck but I get all the sex I want at work” answer. A surprising amount of people took that as a bonafide solution to the conundrum. Those who cared enough to imagine it, though, always picked at the loose threads, which was where it got tricky.

Cas and Dean had no intention of sharing their intimate secrets with people, and often pretended like it was honestly that clean cut and dry. This awarded them condescending looks that said “I pity you and the day you realize you need REAL LOVE in this life.” The worst was the way some people treated Cas like he was just too blind to see that Dean was “cheating on him.”

The fools.

They had no idea. None. Dean’s career entangled him with countless men, but his heart remained true to Cas. It never wavered. He could feel himself putting down roots, stretching out in the nutritious soil of the garden that was his life with Cas.

Work finally stabilized. In the past, that never happened while he still had a boyfriend. Usually, he compartmentalized and it just got bumpier and bumpier until finally something broke and it came down to the guy or the job. But with Cas? One or two rough patches, and then suddenly, nothing but clear skies.

Dean could do anything his director wanted him to, because no matter how far into the character Dean slipped, no matter how many hours a week he had to put into it, no matter how sick of sex he got, it was all for Cas in the end. Dean could go into work and get so completely wrecked that he had to sleep for a full day afterwards, and Cas happily nursed him back to full strength with a kind of glow because it all promised a good solo night for Cas down the road.

On the nights when their love worked Dean into such a frenzy that he took out the toy, Cas always watched. He went from watching across the room, to on the bed next to him, to occasionally giving Dean direction, to occasionally touching himself as it all happened. A little over a year into it, they began trading a few kisses as they mutually masturbated.

Cas never fully undressed in front of Dean. Shirtless, fisting himself in his shorts was the one-time extreme they reached but Cas had something like a sub drop from it so they were careful after that. Dean didn’t need his lover to be naked. He really didn’t, and that was really surprising. He never would have pegged himself as the type. But, at the end of the day every dick was the same, and he saw plenty at work.

He didn’t love Cas for having an amazing cock. He loved Cas for having such a beautiful, rich heart and soul, for having those eyes that looked straight into Dean’s inner world and smiled at what he saw. He loved _Cas_ , so much that when his body needed to prove it, he let it out in a frenzy with those eyes watching, _seeing_.

They met each other’s families. Sam liked Cas easily, even though the pair tended towards philosophical debates that escalated into arguments that were only settled with Cas drinking Sam under the table. But Cas liked Sam better than any of his own brothers.

Cas told his entire family that Dean was the best porn star in the business. Turned out one of Cas’ brothers secretly did hetero porn at the Casa Erotica years ago, so big laugh, and for once zero judgement from the boyfriend’s family. For once, _actual respect_ from some of them. Dean couldn’t believe it, and couldn’t take the chance that he could lose any of it.

So two years from the day he first kissed Cas, Dean bought a pair of rings.

 

Over dinner when Cas asked about the new ring Dean was wearing, Dean presented a matching one with _the_ question, and Cas didn’t even have to think. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for it on the first star he saw of an evening. To have Dean forever.

It was all they were lacking, the legal and symbolical statement that said they loved each other more than anyone else. Cas had simply been trying to think of the right time, the right place that he could risk such a weighty question. It didn’t occur to him until Dean asked over the bread rolls that the time and place and word choice meant nothing, and the question wasn’t any heavier than their love could lift on wings. Cas put his ring on and Dean moved his to the appropriate finger, and the restaurant gave them free food.

Their wedding was a simple affair before a justice of the peace, with Sam as the witness. Afterwards they met a gathering of all their friends and family at Harvelles were there was cake, live music, alcohol and dancing.

When they finally made it back home to privacy and a warm bed, Cas kissed his heart out on top of Dean, who got so worked up that he turned over and fucked the mattress, so in love it wasn’t even an erotic act, just a thing that happened with Cas covering him like a blanket and crying as he kiss-talked across the freckles on his shoulders about how happy he was to be Dean’s husband.

"I love being your husband. I'm gonna be your husband for the rest of my life. I'm so lucky. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you." Dean keened, "I have you, Dean." Dean moaned and sobbed, "Yes, it feels good doesn't it? Feels amazing having you in my heart. I love you so much."

Dean finished with a sob and turned back over and Cas kissed the tear tracks and lay on top of him, placid cocks mashed together, noses brushing as they smiled at each other. Cas lightly fingered the creases at Dean’s eyes from smiling too much and Dean ran a thumb down Cas’ cheek, combed his hair. “That was perfect,” he whispered hoarsely.

Cas nodded. Before now, their love making was nothing short of a production that began with verbal agreement and then stage prep. This was the first organic encounter that began and ended without disappointment or breached limit. They understood each other so well by then, it hadn’t even taken a second thought. Dean was aware that Cas had not even gotten hard, and the man wasn’t upset by it, comprehended that it took _an entirely different_ mindset for Cas to harden enough for ejaculation.

The fact that Dean could go to that place just because Cas was whispering I love you over and over again remained the most incredible part.

What a complex, intricate design; body and soul blended together. Often Cas felt like a thing stuffed into a body that had weird, inconvenient demands. It wasn’t until Dean that he felt like a loved thing.

Not broken at all.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> hope this was fun and educational (I wrote it while going through my own ace awakening).
> 
> Edit added Feb 2017.
> 
> I am overwhelmed by the response this fic has received! Reading through the comments you readers have left gives me goosebumps. I never imagined I would touch so many people in such a profound way.
> 
> In further exploring the asexual spectrum I have discovered a relatively new term called solo-sexuality, coined (of course) by the millennials, and it is a term which I wish I had known as I was writing this fic bc that is exactly what Cas is!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sharing and commenting :-)


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